THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


BY 


FRANK  L.  DECKER 


AUTHOR  OF  "POEMS  OF  PASTIME" 

AND  OTHER 
MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS 


LOS  ANGELES.  CAL 
1922 


PJ 

3S07 


CONTENTS 


Preface  ....................................................  7 

Begin  the  Day  Right  ........................................  8 

The  Close  of  a  Perfect  Day  ..................................  10 

Harvest  on  the  Hills  ........................................  11 

The  Little  Things  of  Life  ...................................  13 

Midnight    Musings  ..........................................  15 

Ravages  of  Rain  ............................................  17 

Flowers  of  the  Desert  ........................................  19 

Song  of  the  Cemetery  ........................................  20 

When  I  Was  a  Millionaire  ..................................  21 

Time's    Toll  ................................................  23 

Somewhere    ................................................  25 

Imparting  to  a  Letter  ........................................  26 

The  Bloom  of  Beauty  ........................................  28 

Calling  of  the  Cameo  ............................  ,  ..........  30 

Christmas  in  California  .....................................  32 

Loneliness    .................................................  34 

Flowers  and  Frailty.  .  .  ......................................  35 

Parting  at  Foreign  Ports  ....................................  36 

Birthday  Beatitude  ..........................................  38 

Vagueness  of  Vision  .........................................  39 

The  Beatitude  of  Being  ......................................  40 

Absence    ...................................................  42 

Radiant   Roses  ..............................................  44 

Rambling  of  the  River  ......................................  45 

Memorial     .................................................  47 

The   Pain   of  Parting  ................  .......................  49 

The    Moon  .................................................  51 

The  Flags  ..................................................  53 

The   Rising   Sun  ............................................  54 

I  Love  to  Watch  the  Waterfalls  .............................  55 

The  Gem  that  Shines  the  Brightest  ..........................  57 

Parting     ...................................................  58 

Shall  I  Meet  Thee  No  More?  ...............................  60 

The    Rain  .....                                                                              ......  62 

548627 

LISRARf 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Enroute  to  Rome 64 

Come    65 

Lines  to  a  Lady  on  Her  Birthday 66 

My  Valentine 67 

Along  the  Country  Roads 68 

Memoir,  Twenty-fifth  Wedding  Anniversary 70 

Companionship   72 

To  the  Ends  of  the  Rainbow 74 

Animal   Life 75 

Tick  of  the  Telegraph 76 

Tributary  of  the  Tweed 78 

The  Pepper  and  Poinsettia 79 

Fascination  of  the   Flowers 81 

Patience    Prostrated 83 

Melodies   of   Morning 85 

Willingness 86 

Nautical    Night 90 

A   Little    Faded   Rose 91 

Separation   of  the   Waters 92 

Vista  of  the  Valley 94 

Thinking  of   Thee 96 

Sound  of  the  Horse's  Hoof 97 

When  the  Bridge  Breaks  Down 98 

Will   it  Be? 100 

Go,  Thou  Thought  of  Mine 102 

Over    the    Rhine 104 

Tribute  to  a  Tree 106 

Retrospect    108 

Sadness  of  Senility 109 

Where  the  Sun  Never  Sets 110 

Visions   of   Verdun 112 

Fading  of  the  Flowers 115 

Absent    117 

When  the  Lawns  are  Covered  with  Leaves 119 

Ceylon    121 

Weaving  the  Web  of  Life 123 

The  Trail  We  Travel 125 

Alpha  and  Omega 127 

If  we  Could  Know . .  ..130 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Poignancy   of   Parting 131 

Nowhere 132 

The  First  White  Frost 133 

The   Black  Man's  Burdens 135 

English    Engines 138 

Will  You  Miss  Me  When  I'm  Gone? 140 

When  the  Flowers  Bloom  Next  Year 141 

The   Three   Thought- Words 142 

Under    the    Mistletoe 144 

Fading  of  the  Autumn  Flowers 145 

The  First   Snowfall 147 

The  Aged  Man's  Soliloquy 149 

Where   Mind   Meets   Mind 151 

Tree  of  the  Trossachs 153 

The  Completeness  of  Creation 155 

Night  at  The  Needles 157 

Diamonds  of  the  Desert 159 

Two  Extremes 160 

Is  There  Anything  Beyond  the  Brain  ? 161 

To  Rosalia 164 

Memories    of  Maltrata 165 

Let  Me  Sleep  by  the  Sound  of  the  Sea 167 

The  Power  of  a  Flower 169 

The  Golden  Days  of  Olden  Days 171 

Dawn  to  Darkness 172 

Fields  and  Forest 17S 

The  Setting  Sun 176 

Meditation 177 

The  End  of  the  Trail. .  .  .179 


THIS  little  book  is  not  published  to  sell  (if  it  were  it 
would  probably  be  a  failure),  but  merely  as  a  gratu 
ity  with  the  hope  of  prolonging  the  memory  of  friendship 
after  that  friendship  itself  has  ceased  to  be.     Simplicity 
and  sincerity  has  been  its  paramount  point. 

Acknowledgment  of  it  is  not  even  necessary,  unless  it 
affords  the  recipient  personal  pleasure  in  doing  so. 

May  its  truth  and  philosophy  console  and  comfort 
you  when  I  lie,  at  last,  in  "the  dreamless  sleep  that  lulls 
the  dead." 

F.  L.  D. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


PREFACE 

Sometimes,  when  your  heart  is  heavy  and  sad, 
Sometimes,  when  your  mind  is  joyful  and  glad, 
Will  you  not  peruse  these  rambling  verses 
With  a  thought  of  them  that  kindly  nurses  ? 

If  I  that  way  may  be  compensated, 

I'll  feel  that  we're  in  a  way  related; 

And  hope  you'll  follow  the  thought  that's  given 

Unto  the  object  from  which  'tis  riven. 

May  these  mental  pictures  I  have  painted, 
Remain  on  your  mind,  always  high  rated; 
Through  touches  of  joy  and  touches  of  tears, 
Throughout  the  coming  and  going  of  years. 

If  there  is  a  thought  within  these  verses 
That  gives  you  pleasure  instead  of  curses; 
Let  me  to  you,  my  adorable  friend, 
That  worthy  thought  most  cheerfully  commend. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


BEGIN  THE  DAY  RIGHT 

Begin  the  day  right  by  doing  first 
The  better  things  instead  of  the  worst; 
Then  to  the  best  of  willing  intents, 
Control  your  temper  at  all  events. 

If  during  the  day  there  comes  worry, 
Take  things  easy  and  never  hurry; 
When  rising  storms  their  fury  expand, 
Dispel  them  with  a  defying  hand. 

He  who  keeps  from  trouble  and  care 
Defeats  the  end  of  many  a  snare, 
And  will  feel  with  the  coming  of  night 
Acts  of  the  day  were  rendered  right. 

Ethical  rules  are  the  best  of  tools, 

And  if  taught  in  the  rudiment  schools, 

Will  fit  us  for  those  turbulent  forms 

We  see  in  the  skies  when  fraught  with  storms. 

Time  and  talent  is  often  wasted 
Upon  the  things  we've  merely  tasted, 
And  when  we  know  their  value  to  us, 
Conclude  we  have  been  a  blunderbuss. 

Chasing  the  wings  of  so-call'd  pleasure 
Reveals  to  us  an  empty  treasure, 
And  leaves  its  shadow  upon  our  path 
When  we  have  felt  the  poignance  of  wrath. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Begin  the  day  right  and  keep  it  up, 
Will  give  us  courage,  and  fill  our  cup 
With  the  essence  of  joy,  in  knowing 
There's  pleasure  in  pleasure  bestowing. 

Begin  the  day  right — God  gives  us  might, 
Good  deeds  to  do  from  morning  'till  night;- 
And  be  it  known  when  the  day  is  done 
A  reward  of  merit  has  been  won. 


October,  1921 


— Four  of  the  grandest  conditions  of  life  are:  perfect 
health,  clear  conscience,  contentment  and  absolute  con 
fidence  in  the  welfare  of  our  future. 


10  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


THE  CLOSE  OF  A  PERFECT  DAY 

After  the  close  of  a  perfect  day, 

And  night  upon  us  serenely  starts, 

We  feel  there's  something  we  want  to  say 
To  express  the  joy  within  our  hearts. 

For  at  the  close  of  a  perfect  day 

There  ensues  a  peaceful,  pleasant  spell 

In  which  our  thanks  we  wish  to  convey 
To  Him  who  thus  has  planned  so  well. 

If  we  can  recall  some  good  deed  done, 
Within  the  day  as  it  is  closing, 

We  feel  a  reward  has  been  well  won 

In  which  our  minds  are  now  reposing. 

Flowers  of  the  field  bespeak  at  night 

That  solace  of  the  soothing  sunbeams 

We  find  in  time  of  serene  delight 

When  a  perfect  day  around  us  gleams. 

There  is  for  us  some  lesson  to  learn 
In  ev'ry  hour  of  a  perfect  day, 

If  in  its  beauty  we  can  discern 

The  constant  glory  of  God's  wise  way. 

Proud  may  we  be  of  what  has  been  done, 
Even  in  our  meek  and  lowly  way; 

If  only  that  good  which  was  begun 

Completes  "The  Close  of  a  Perfect  Day.' 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  11 

HARVEST  ON  THE  HILLS 

(Between  Santa  Barbara  and  San  Luis  Obispo) 

Golden  are  the  hills  that,  rising  high 

Above  the  sandy  shore  of  the  sea, 
Outlined  against  a  bright  blue  sky, 

Are  exceedingly  enchanting  to  me. 

As  waves  the  ocean,  so  waves  the  grain 

Upon  the  beautiful  rolling  hills; — 
While  during  the  months  there  is  no  rain, 

Old  Nature  here  her  function  fulfills. 

From  early  seed-time  and  the  sowing, 

These  hills  assume  an  emerald  hue; — 

Throughout  this  season,  they  are  glowing 
With  refreshment  of  the  morning  dew. 

But  nothing  remains  long  in  one  stage, — 
As  develop  the  trees  from  planting, 

So  does  our  youth  pass  into  old  age, 

While  we  grasp  at  things  most  enchanting. 

Where  grows  the  grain  from  slanting  hillsides, 
There  is  little  change  from  day  to  day; 

But,  finally,  as  time  swiftly  glides, 

That  vivid  green  has  passed  away. 

Then  in  that  stage  of  golden  yellow, 

Between  the  blue  skies  and  the  blue  seas, 

The  winds  are  blowing  soft  and  mellow 
Against  the  ancient  live-oak  trees. 


12  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Wonderful  sight  it  is  to  behold 

These  lofty  acres  of  waving  wheat, 

Since  they  have  turned  to  gilded  gold 

Where  heaven  and  earth  appear  to  meet. 

Utility  of  this  abrupt  soil 

At  first  would  seem  an  ominous  dream, 
But  men  in  their  determined  toil 

Accept  not  things  as  they  sometimes  seem. 

Man  disdains  the  spirit  of  despair, 

While  with  glamourous  hope  his  heart  thrills 
With  the  precious  prize  that  he  has  there, 

In  reaping  the  "Harvest  on  the  Hills." 

July.  1920 


— Human  life,  allegorically  speaking,  is  similar  to  a 
river  flowing  through  mountain  sides  and  tufted  plains 
to  the  distant  shore,  and  is  obscured  in  the  unfathom 
able  depths  of  the  ocean,  never  again  to  regain  its 
individuality. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  13 


THE  LITTLE  THINGS  OF  LIFE 

As  sand  seeps  through  the  smallest  places 
And  slowly  covers  the  scars  of  time, 

So  do  our  deeds  of  little  graces, 

As  up  the  ladder  of  life  we  climb. 

Looking  forward  to  big  things  beyond 

From  trivial  affairs  of  today, 
We  expect  Providence  will  respond 

To  numerous  wants  for  which  we  pray. 

As  cement  unites  the  granite  wall 

And  makes  that  wall  a  mighty  power, 

So  the  little  grains  that  'round  us  fall 

Produce  the  wheat  that  precedes  the  flour. 

He  who  comes  home  with  some  little  thing 
To  eager  children  waiting  for  him, 

Unto  their  hearts,  happy  thoughts  will  bring 

When  time  has  pass'd  and  mem'ry  grown  dim. 

A  word,  sometimes  sharper  than  the  sword, 
Leaves  its  cutting  impress  on  one's  heart, 

And,  if  not  soothed  by  love's  accord, 
Forever  remains  a  stinging  smart. 

The  little  things  of  life,  knit  like  lace 

Into  our  every  weal  or  woe, 
Contribute  to  and  fulfill  their  place 

As  along  the  lane  of  life  we  go. 


14  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

What  seems  a  difficult  task  today 

Is  perhaps  banished  by  tomorrow, 

And  passed  into  the  merest  play, 

If  all  trouble  we  cease  to  borrow. 

Smaller  the  bee,  the  keener  the  sting; 

Calmer  the  stream,  the  deeper  it  flows; 
Clearer  the  bell,  the  sweeter  its  ring; 

Purer  the  love,  the  fonder  it  grows. 

Incidents  of  life  still  linger  on 

In  constant  thoughts  of  joy  and  pleasure, 
And  when  the  substance  itself  is  gone, 

Memory  remains  a  happy  treasure. 

Things  that  are  small  and  trifling  today, 
May  magnify  with  coming  of  age, 

As  rare  jewels  in  the  matrix  lay 

Prior  to  their  most  beautiful  stage. 

The  little  things  of  life,  enhanced 

By  affections  that  around  them  cling, 

Remain  with  us  in  years  advanced, 

And  to  our  hearts  fond  mem'ries  bring. 

As  flowers  enrich  the  mountain  side 

And  sparkling  whitecaps  the  ocean's  crest, 

So  are  the  little  things  applied 

In  a  mystic  way  that  serves  us  best. 

October,  1919 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  15 


MIDNIGHT  MUSING 

Caroline,  oh,  Caroline!    can  it  be, 

As  the  midnight  stars  above  me  shine, 

Thy  beautiful  face  I  ne'er  shall  see, 

Where  oft  we  met  by  the  ivy  vine  ? 

Dewdrops  bathe  the  night  blooming  flowers 
That  emit  their  fragrance  pure  and  sweet, 

As  moonbeams  light  the  enchanting  bow'rs 
Under  which  we  long'd  so  much  to  meet. 

Autumn  breeze,  that  with  the  branches  play, 
Consecrate  this  sacred  spot  to  me, 

Where,  the  flowers  fading  away, 

I  am  thinking  and  thinking  of  thee. 

The  nightingale's  song,  that  charm'd  my  soul 
Under  light  of  the  beautiful  stars, 

Has  long  since  ceas'd,  as  the  seasons  roll, 
And  leaves  no  equal  to  what  it  mars. 

Birds  that  sang  in  the  twilight  of  night, 

And  thrilled  the  air  with  mirthful  tune, 

Have  raised  their  broods  and  taken  flight 
During  the  rapturous  month  of  June. 

Flowers  that  perfume  the  midnight  air 

Have  not  the  charm  they  once  had  for  me, 

When  I  was  young  with  Caroline  fair, 

And  bask'd  beneath  the  juniper  tree. 


16  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh!    can  it  be  she  has  gone  from  me 

In  the  fleeting,  futile  years  of  life, — 

Her  face  and  form  shall  I  no  more  see 
In  this  sojourn  of  sorrow  and  strife? 

Then  adieu  to  the  bright  shining  stars, 
And  adieu  to  the  mild,  mellow  moon, 

For  they  reopen  the  smarting  scars 
Of  felicity,  follow'd  by  gloom. 

November  27,  1919 


— As  the  proper  frame  enhances  the  picture,  so  do  proper 
words  enhance  the  thought  that  they  convey. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  17 


RAVAGES  OF  RAIN 

Down  flows  the  debris  of  nearby  hills, 
As  rivers  rise  from  excessive  rain, 

Pitching,  plunging  with  violent  thrills, 

As  volumes  of  force  they  quickly  gain. 

Here  a  limb,  there  the  trunk  of  a  tree 

Washed  from  the  shores  of  raging  stream, 

And  drifting  away  toward  the  sea 

Like  the  rush  of  a  runaway  team. 

Torrents  of  water  from  mountain  side 

Dash  down  with  force  of  an  avalanche, 

As  daring  cowboys,  for  cattle  ride, 

When  wind  and  rain  is  raiding  their  ranch. 

Dark,  dismal  clouds  hanging  in  the  skies, 
Foretell  the  danger  of  their  fury, 

As  we  take  note  that  under  them  lies 
The  dreaded  vengeance  of  a  jury. 

Then,  with  a  rumbling  of  thunder  sound, 

And  vivid  flash  of  electric  light 
That  wreaks  the  heavens  and  jars  the  ground, 

The  river  pursues  its  angry  flight. 

Maize  and  grain  that  waved  in  splendor 

With  the  western  wind's  gentle  blowing, 

From  their  moorings  they  now  surrender, 

And  join  the  stream  with  fragments  flowing. 


18  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Emerald  valleys,  coated  with  grass, 

Have  been  converted  into  lagoons, 

As  volumes  of  rain  over  them  pass, 

And  leave  them  in  a  state  of  maroons. 

Devastated  fields  portray  the  scene 

Of  this  once  beaming,  beautiful  land, 

And  the  vales  that  were  clothed  in  green, 
Alas,  are  nothing  but  sheets  of  sand! 

But  nature,  like  the  spirit  of  man, 
Will  rise  and  recuperate  again, 

As  only  forces  of  nature  can, 

After  the  dire  "Ravages  of  Rain." 

February,  1920 


— In  looking  over  cards  today  as  one  often  will,  I  find 
names  that  bring  fond  memories  around  me  still. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  19 


FLOWERS  OF  THE  DESERT 

Flowers  in  the  balmy  month  of  March 
Decorate  the  desert  a  brief  spell, 

Then  increasing  heat  their  petals  parch 
As  the  sun  begins  to  toll  their  knell. 

Pink  and  purple  and  white  and  yellow, 
By  myriads  are  blooming  today 

In  an  air  of  sweetness,  and  mellow 

With  golden  sunbeams  that  on  them  play. 

Tender  and  timid,  they  now  adorn 

The  exhaustless  waste  of  desert  land 

Where  trav'lers,  desolate  and  forlorn, 

Pursue  their  journey  across  the  sand. 

Bright  and  beautiful  the  blossoms  are 
Against  the  towering,  barren  hills 

That  soar  their  heights  in  the  skies  afar 
As  the  vale  with  glory  quickly  fills. 

Frail  little  blossoms  of  pink  and  gold 

Cover  the  ground  with  beauty  and  grace, 

Presenting  a  scene  both  new  and  old 

Within  the  realms  of  this  arid  place. 

Thrilling  the  senses  with  their  daring 
And  audacious  attempt  to  survive 

On  such  soil,  the  desert  is  sharing 
In  its  effort  to  keep  them  alive. 


20  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

But  these  timorous  little  flowers 

Growing  under  a  balmy  blue  sky, 

Not  nourished  by  frequent  showers, 
Are  destined  to  wither  and  die. 

March  15,  1920 


SONG  OF  THE  CEMETERY 

Sweet  was  the  song  of  this  fair  maiden 

That  beautiful  Memorial  Day, 
When  with  her  voice  the  air  was  laden 

On  Sunday,  the  thirtieth  of  May. 

Oh,  could  the  dead  have  heard  what  she  said 
In  honor  of  their  gallant  manner, 

When,  with  mortal  wounds,  they  fell  and  bled 
Beneath  the  furls  of  flag  and  banner! 

But  they  hear  not  her  song  nor  prayer, 
That  is  borne  away  this  afternoon, 

Upon  the  mild,  melodious  air 

That  plays  about  their  silent  tomb. 

Sad  silence  pervades  the  atmosphere, 

As  stare  meets  stare  in  a  solemn  thought 

Of  those  who  today  are  lying  here, 

After  giving  their  lives  for  which  they  fought. 

What  could  be  more  beautiful  to  me 

Than  that  sacred  song  of  Esther  Dale 

As  I  think  of  her  over  the  sea 

And  think  of  her  as  "Queen  of  the  Vale?" 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  21 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  MILLIONAIRE 

When  I  was  a  joyous  millionaire — 
Not  in  money  as  money  implies, 

But  in  youth;  free  from  every  care, 

That  later  along  life's  highway  lies. 

It  was  not  gold  nor  gems,  rich  and  rare, 
Bestowed  upon  my  youthful  years, 

That  made  me  more  than  a  millionaire, 

And  leaves  me  now  in  the  wake  of  tears. 

But  far  more  precious  than  golden  wealth 
The  unbroken  chain  of  kindred  ties, 

Endowed  with  happiness  and  health, 
Before  one  of  the  family  dies. 

Father,  mother,  sister  and  brother, 

In  the  realms  of  home  were  with  me  there; 
Then  as  a  wife  there  came  another, 

Which  rendered  me  a  millionaire. 

The  golden  treasure  miners  love  best, 

Lies  hidden,  with  no  way  to  show  it; 

So  it  is  when  we  are  in  that  zest 

Of  rarest  riches — and  don't  know  it. 

Then  fields  were  green  and  flowers  ablaze 
With  the  glory  of  life  in  their  stare, 

Proclaiming  aloud  with  nature's  praise 
The  happy  sense  of  a  millionaire. 


22  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

But  once  the  chain  of  joy  is  broken, 

We  ne'er  again  can  repair  that  loss; 

And  when  a  word  of  love  is  spoken, 

It  helps  us  some  dark  river  to  cross. 

Then  to  the  youth  whose  future  bids  fair 
As  over  "the  golden  age"  he  treads, 

May  be  reckoned  a  millionaire, 

As  life's  great  landscape  before  him  spreads. 

But  when  loved  ones  have  pass'd  across 
The  border  land,  and  left  us  in  grief; 

We  realize  the  depths  of  our  loss 

As  the  midnight  levy  of  a  thief. 

Thus  it  was,  I  beheld  those  treasures, 

That  keep  us  from  the  sting  of  despair, 

And  embraced  their  passing  pleasures 

In  days  "When  I  was  a  Millionaire." 

May,  1920 


— Some  people  are  hard  to  analyze  and  hard  to  handle' 
but  the  clouds  generally  indicate  which  way  the  wind 
blows. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  23 


TIME'S  TOLL 

With  another  turn  of  Time's  great  wheel, 
And  farewell  to  the  departing  year, 

Effects  of  age  we  begin  to  feel, 

As  the  leaves  are  turning  brown  and  sear. 

We  now  demur  on  that  border  land 

Where  brooklets  turn  to  their  final  course, 

And  ramble  away,  as  they  expand 

Into  vibrant  fullness  of  their  force. 

How  like  unto  a  river  life  seems, — 

Bounded  by  landscapes  on  either  side, 

Leaving  the  past  in  the  wake  of  dreams 
While  pressing  on  to  the  ocean's  tide. 

Then  often  we  think  of  years  gone  by 

In  the  buoyance  and  beauty  of  youth; 

While  now  they're  fraught  with  sigh  after  sigh, 
And  remind  us  of  that  passing  truth. 

Like  a  beautiful  river,  flowing 

Forever  toward  the  distant  sea; 

Could  we  maintain  our  youthful  glowing, 
How  sweet  the  journey  of  life  would  be! 

Like  a  balmy  breeze  over  the  seas, 
Feasting  upon  supernal  delight, 

We  covet  the  things  our  heart  to  please 

And  darken  our  days  by  length  of  night. 


24  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

But  the  meridian  once  passed, 

We  start  upon  that  receding  plane 

Which  conveys  us  downward  very  fast, 

And  fills  our  lives  with  sorrow  and  pain 

There  is  no  waste  like  the  waste  of  time; 

Minute  by  minute  the  days  pass  on, 
As  onward,  upward  we  strive  to  climb, 

Only  to  find  our  chances  are  gone. 

It  matters  not  much  which  way  we  glide 

On  the  sea  of  life,  now  homeward  bound; 

Drifting,  drifting  on  the  rolling  tide 
Until  at  last  our  harbor  is  found. 

Then  like  the  ship  from  some  far-off  shore, 
Her  voyage  ended,  and  sails  laid  low, — 

Ceasing  our  burden  forever  more, — 

We  bid  farewell  to  this  fleeting  show. 

October,  1920 


— The  happiest  hours  of  our  lives  are  often  but  har 
bingers  of  sorrow  that  is  to  follow. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  25 


SOMEWHERE 

There  shines  somewhere  a  beautiful  star, — 
Somewhere  in  the  celestial  skies; 

Across  the  seas  in  that  land  afar, 
We  picture  perpetual  paradise. 

Oh!  beautiful  star  of  wondrous  light, 

Set  like  gems  in  thy  heavenly  crown 

Above  the  darkness  of  coming  night, 

As  slowly  the  golden  sun  goes  down. 

Somewhere,  there  grows  a  beautiful  rose, 
Beneath  the  shadows  of  myrtle  vines, 

Nearby  the  river  that  swiftly  flows 

Through  the  rustic  realms  of  pretty  pines. 

Oh!  wonderful  growth  of  forest  trees, 

Where  the  woodman's  ax  has  never  been 

To  enthrall  his  soul  with  rhapsodies, 

And  by  cutting  them,  commit  a  sin. 

Somewhere,  there's  a  lady,  beautiful 

As  the  flowers  with  dewdrops  laden, 

I'll  frankly  say  (only  dutiful), 

She's  as  "distant"  as  far-off  Aden. 

Somewhere,  my  spirit  is  reverting 

Through    the   remote   rhythms   of   pleasures 

gone, 
While  she  is  deliberately  deserting 

The  golden  chariot  we  rode  upon. 

November,  1920 


26  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


IMPARTING  TO  A  LETTER 

Go  thou  little  harbinger  of  peace 

From  the  roseate  lands  of  the  west, 

Unto  the  faraway  isles  of  Greece, 

Of  which  I  am  no  longer  blessed. 

Convey  to  them  my  longing  for  home 
In  this  foreign  land  of  adventure, 

And  tell  them,  too,  I  would  rather  roam 
Along  the  Aegean's  low  indenture. 

Tell  them  of  scenes  wild  and  romantic, 

Far  different  from  their  native  shores, 

That  lie  beyond  the  broad  Atlantic, 
Within  America's  open  doors. 

Take  the  tidings  to  those,  who  sleeping 
In  the  quietude  of  hill  and  dale, 

To  hasten  from  their  languid  keeping 
And  for  Hesperia  quickly  sail. 

Farewell  to  your  country  and  your  friends, 
Farewell  to  scenes  of  juvenile  years; 

And  look  toward  a  land  that  pretends 

To  replete  the  heart  with  joy  and  cheers. 

Sever  thou  the  bonds  of  home  ties  now, 
And  enter  on  those  trying  ordeals 

That  chill  the  heart  and  wrinkle  the  brow 
When  one  distressed  and  lonely  feels. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  27 

Could  we  but  find  that  heavenly  spot 

So  often  pictured  here  on  earth, 
We  might  be  happier  with  our  lot 

In  replacing  gloom  with  joy  and  mirth. 

But  placing  hopes  on  things  forbidden, 

We  find,  when  perchance  they  are  attain'd, 

They  lie  beneath  false  cov'ring  hidden, 
And  we  at  last  have  nothing  gained. 

Blessed  be  they  who  are  satisfied 

With  the  resources  at  their  command, 

And  accept  them  as  first  applied 

In  the  way  they  were  wisely  planned. 

Then  radiant  was  the  Occident, 

For  millions  who  have  lived  and  died, 

If,  after  the  way  their  lives  were  spent, 

Could  exclaim,  "Lord,  I  shall  be  satisfied" 


November,  1920 


— Parting  of  friends  is  like  the  afterglow  of  sunset,  which 
prolongs  fond  memories  of  the  day  passing  into  darkness. 


28  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

THE  BLOOM  OF  BEAUTY 

(M.  A.  D.) 

I  saw  today  a  beautiful  girl 

Whose  hair  was  black  as  the  raven's  breast, 
Her  cheeks  as  smooth  as  the  sheen  of  pearl 

And  teeth  white  as  Fujiyama's  crest. 

Her  eyes  were  gray  and  mild  and  mellow, 
Her  countenance  as  chaste  as  a  child; 

Her  lips,  the  slightest  tinge  of  yellow, 

As  on  her  friends  she  sweetly  smiled. 

The  precious  jewels  that  round  her  shone 
Enhanced  the  beauty  of  her  face, 

As  violets,  after  they  have  grown, 

Emulate  the  gold  and  gilded  vase. 

Sweet  as  the  breath  of  flowers  in  June 

When  fragrant  fields  are  aflame  with  light; 

Where  bright  sunbeams  fill  the  skies  at  noon 
And  moonbeams  render  their  rays  at  night. 

But  sun  nor  moon  nor  brilliant  stars 

In  all  their  glory  o'er  land  and  sea, — 

From  Jupiter  to  the  light  of  Mars; — 

Have  no  such  beauty  as  Miss  Marea. 

The  poppies  have  their  crimson  and  gold, 

The  lovely  larkspurs  their  charms  of  blue; 

But  none  the  senses  so  firmly  hold, 

As  rosebuds  bath'd  in  the  morning  dew. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  29 

Exquisite  flowers  display  God's  love 

In  the  intricate  beauty  they  bear, 
And  infinite  stars  that  shine  above, 

Convey  to  us  His  relative  care. 

Yet  more  lovable  than  the  flower 

That  retains  within  its  calyx  pure, 
Resistance  to  seductive  power; 

Is  she  who  can  temptation  endure. 

The  bloom  of  beauty,  often  checked 

By  the  sinful  folly  of  itself, 
And  its  prospective  pleasures  wrecked 

By  the  act  of  a  mischievous  elf. 

That  perfect  beauty  we  so  admire 

Is  the  beauty  we  now  seldom  see; 
'Tis  the  type  that  sets  our  heart  on  fire, — 

This  matchless  beauty  of  sweet  Marea. 


December,  1920 


— Occupation  is  the  foundation  of  happiness,  and  the 
idle  are  easy  prey  to  the  allurements  of  temptation. 


30  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


CALLING  OF  THE  CAMEO 

Go  thou  cameo  of  mystery, 

Unto  the  realms  of  woman's  attire, 
And  establish  there  a  place  for  thee 

That  esthetic  critics  will  admire. 

As  to  what  may  be  your  noble  name, 

Origin,  history  and  demise, 
I  have  searched  and  searched  in  vain 

With  the  result  of  complete  surprise. 

Your  face,  familiar  without  a  name, 

Has  the  brow  of  Clay  and  nose  like  Lee, 

That  brands  you  with  American  fame; 
But  precisely  who  I  cannot  see. 

Important,  no  doubt  was  your  station 
As  a  statesman  and  a  pioneer, 

During  early  days  of  our  nation 

When  the  future  outlook  was  not  clear. 

If  your  presence  aided  those  neighbors, 

In  the  ordeals  they  were  passing  through, 

They  prolong  mem'ry  of  your  labors 
By  preserving  this  portrait  of  you. 

This  life  is  so  short  and  uncertain, 

If  we  leave  nothing  our  name  to  bear, 

As  soon  as  Time  closes  the  curtain, 
Of  us,  others  little  know  nor  care. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  31 

It  is  the  acts  lying  behind  us 

That  are  into  the  future  riven, 
And  deeds  of  kindness  that  remind  us 

Of  the  blessings  to  us  once  given. 

Then  who  wears  this  brooch  in  later  years 

Will  confer  honor  upon  her  race, 
And  think  of  him  whose  picture  appears 

After  others  have  taken  his  place. 


December,  1920 


— If  there  is  anything  about  us  worth  noticing,  we  will 
be  noticed.     If  there  is  nothing,  we  will  pass  unnoticed. 


32  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


CHRISTMAS  IN  CALIFORNIA 

(Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Woolard) 

Lighted  streets  with  wreaths  of  red  and  green 
Hanging  in  windows  on  either  side, 

And  gorgeous  garlands  as  ever  seen, 

Foretell  the  coming  of  Christmas-tide. 

Symbolic  of  our  Redeemer's  birth, 

We  connect  the  sacred  diadem, 
With  that  eager  state  of  joy  and  mirth, 

As  it  occurred  in  Bethlehem. 

Within,  there  is  a  spirit  of  joy, 

In  preparing  this  and  marking  that; — 
To  some  a  book  and  others  a  toy, 

If  only  a  hood  or  baby's  hat. 

Both  old  and  young  are  quite  excited, — 
The  parents  in  re-living  the  past, 

The  children  now  ultra-delighted, 

As  gifts  are  coming  and  going  fast. 

Many  perhaps  are  of  little  use 

Except  to  recall  their  childhood  days, 

When  the  wreaths  are  gone  from  long  abuse, 

And  naught  but  memory  round  them  plays. 

The  streets  and  stores  are  one  moving  mass 

Looking  for  presents  to  please  their  friends, 

Taking  no  time  to  talk  as  they  pass, 

Where  sparkling  gems  with  the  bright  light 
blends. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  33 

But  from  the  rush  and  crowded  city, 

I  long  to  be  exiled  and  free; 
For  with  the  joy,  there  is  much  pity, 

And  such  surging  has  no  charms  for  me. 

Then  through  the  long  lane  of  pepper  trees 
That  leads  toward  the  nearby  mountains, 

I  trace  the  touch  of  a  biting  breeze 

That  wafts  its  way  o'er  fields  and  fountains. 

Beautiful  is  this  fleur-de-lane, 

Sweet  the  clusters  of  pink  pepper  pods, 

As  o'er  the  road  their  branches  entwain, 
And  shelter  the  fading  goldenrods. 

At  length,  I  see  the  emerald  pines 

Standing  in  their  glorious  array, 
While  upon  them  the  setting  sun  shines, 

Before  the  close  of  another  day. 

Then  twilight  falls  on  these  lofty  peaks 

That  stand  in  silence  'tween  day  and  night, 

'Til  the  rising  moon,  in  fullness  speaks 
With  all  her  force  of  impending  light. 

Oh!    pretty  pines,  purified  with  snow, 

In  majestic  grandeur  and  delight, 
That  shadow  the  valleys  far  below, 

And  crown  the  glory  of  Christmas  night. 

Lot  Angeles,  California,  December  25,  1920 


34  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


LONELINESS 

Oh!  loneliness,  intense  loneliness, 

You  cling  to  my  spirit  with  despair, 

And  keep  me  in  a  state  of  distress 

That  is  heavy  and  hard  to  forbear. 

The  holidays  passed  in  merriment, 

With  much  juvenile  pleasure  and  glee, 

For  those,  who  through  the  excitement  went, 
Preceding  their  merry  Christmas  tree. 

But  I  find  no  more  that  youthful  joy 
We  so  likewise  felt  in  former  years, 

Borne  by  the  spirit  of  valiant  boy, 

But  now,  alas!    never  more  appears. 

As  the  trees,  when  their  leaves  are  falling, 
Assume  that  demure,  desolate  spell, — 

We  feel  the  winter  winds  are  calling 
To  tell  us  of  the  season's  farewell. 

As  calm  follows  the  wild  wind's  blowing, 
And  quiets  the  effect  of  its  roar, 

So  is  our  mem'ry  ever  glowing 

With  future  hopes  of  life's  open  door. 

Yet  when  we  review  the  good  and  bad 
Under  the  light  of  their  equal  stress, 

We  are  ofttimes  sick  and  ofttimes  sad, 
With  the  heavy  weight  of  loneliness. 


January  4,  1921 


February,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 
FLOWERS  AND  FRAILTY 

(As  seen  in  a  Los  Angeles  street  car) 

She  held  fast  a  bouquet  of  jonquils, 
And  acacia  blossoms  of  the  best, 

Which  vied  with  the  golden  daffodils 
That  invited  a  floral  conquest. 

She  prized  these  exquisite  flowers, 

As  the  symbol  of  friendship  and  love, 

Having  brought  them  from  ivy  bowers 
That  covered  the  arbors  above. 

She  seemed  to  imbibe  their  beauty, 

As  her  countenance  bespoke  delight, 

And  lit  up  with  that  joyful  duty 

The  shining  stars  bestow  upon  night. 

Her  face,  as  sweet  as  the  daffodils, 
Teemed  in  that  beautiful  array, 

That  the  soul  with  effulgent  joy  fills, 
When  rays  of  glory  around  it  play. 

To  some  poor  friends  in  anguish  lying, 
These  flowers  she  kindly  conveyed, 

As  if  to  relieve  them,  by  trying 

Their  sorrow  and  suff'ring  to  evade. 

Who  was  she  that  clasped  these  flowers 
Within  a  hand  withered  and  frail, 

With  snow-white  hair,  heeding  not  the  hours 
That  pointed  to  the  end  of  her  trail  ? 


36  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


PARTING  AT  FOREIGN  PORTS 

With  a  look  and  a  laugh  and  a  sigh, 

As  the  ship's  moorings  begin  to  break 

With  waving  of  hands  and  sad  goodby, 
Our  final  leave  we  prepare  to  take. 

Friendships  formed  must  now  be  broken, 
Perhaps  to  be  renewed  no  more; 

But  mem'ry  will  remain  a  token 

Of  the  pleasant  days  at  Singapore. 

Farewell  to  the  tropical  flowers, 

'Midst  many  strange  and  primitive  scenes, 
Where  we  have  passed  some  happy  hours, 

And  review  them  now  as  pleasant  dreams. 

The  ricksha  and  little  bullock  cart, 
Ever  faithful  to  their  duty  done, 

Make  it  quite  sad  for  us  to  depart 

Since  our  sincere  friendship  has  been  won. 

Down  on  the  busy,  turbulent  quay, 
Where  all  are  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

The  ship  is  ready  to  sail  away, 

As  the  receding  tides  come  and  go. 

And  now  she  sails  at  exactly  noon 

For  the  Malacca  Straits  and  Penang 

Then  on  to  the  city  of  Rangoon, 

Along  the  groves  where  cocoanuts  hang. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  37 

Prolonged  would  be  our  pleasant  stay 

In  these  equatorial  regions, 
If  the  great  Malay  peninsula 

Had  not  so  many  lurid  legions. 

Low,  weird  tunes  those  chanting  natives  sang, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  cocoanut  trees, 

That  lined  the  streets  of  old  Penang, 

As  gently  blew  the  Malayan  breeze. 

Then  again  we  bid  a  kind  farewell, 

To  those  we  met  in  the  torrid  zones, 

As  the  ship,  under  this  magic  spell, 

Sails  away  toward  our  distant  homes. 


38  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


BIRTHDAY  BEATITUDE 

(Marea  Dow) 

Stay,  oh,  stay  the  flight  of  passing  time 
In  that  beautiful  noonday  of  life, 

Where  I  now  stand  on  the  border  line 

Between  the  choice  of  maiden  and  wife. 

Oh,  must  I  leave  the  charms  of  my  youth 
And  enter  the  realms  of  womanhood, 

To  make  myself  in  spirit  and  truth 

All  that  is  grand  and  all  that  is  good  ? 

Happy  days  that  came  in  younger  years 
With  the  twenty-sixth  of  December, 

Knew  not  the  sadness  of  sighs  nor  tears, 
But  only  joys,  as  I  remember. 

The  flower  in  fullness  of  its  bloom 

Portrays  the  beauty  of  life  today, 

As  I  am  free  from  that  misty  gloom, 

That,  in  the  distance,  will  cloud  my  way. 

Oh,  could  I  stay  the  joy  of  this  day 

And  remain  in  its  height  of  pleasure, 

All  days  would  be  as  the  days  of  May, 

And  make  my  life  one  golden  treasure! 

Buoyant  ambition  and  buoyant  strength 
Bless  me  now  in  the  fullness  of  life; 

But  the  days  of  joy,  shorter  in  length, 
Will  change  into  the  cares  of  a  wife. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  39 

Then  as  Time's  wheel  onward  revolves, 

Changing  today  into  tomorrow; 
I  pray  the  things  that  it  involves, 

Be  free  from  trouble  and  free  from  sorrow. 

But  like  the  radiance  of  flowers 

That  reach  perfection,  then  quickly  fade, 
We  must  bid  farewell  to  youthful  hours, 

And  cast  our  lot  with  the  evening  shade. 

Although  the  skies  are  sometimes  brightest 
Just  before  the  placid  close  of  day; 

Whereas  the  heart  is  likewise  lightest, 

When  the  clouds  of  life  have  clear'd  away. 

December  26,  1919 


VAGUENESS  OF  VISION 

As  rears  the  crown  of  some  mountain  peak 
Far  away  across  the  interim, 

So  do  thoughts  from  you  appear  to  speak 
From  out  beyond  the  horizon's  rim. 


40  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


THE  BEATITUDE  OF  BEING 

We  plead  to  the  earth  and  to  the  skies 
For  something  needed  every  day, 

While  echo  rings  with  a  voice  that  cries 

For  help  within  us  throughout  the  way. 

The  soil  will  open  the  planted  seeds 
That  lie  within  its  viable  source, 

And  light  above  will  supply  their  needs 

As  soon  as  they  have  taken  their  course. 

We  must  therefore  from  the  very  start, 
Assist  in  that  we  wish  to  obtain, 

By  a  constant  effort  on  our  part, 

And  earn  what  we  are  trying  to  gain. 

Our  time  and  talent  is  often  lost 

Upon  the  follies  that  round  us  play, 

And  when  we  stop  to  compute  the  cost, 
It  leaves  us  in  a  state  of  dismay. 

The  earth  and  air  have  every  where 
The  requisites  for  eternal  good, 

And  we  can  discern  that  they  are  there 
When  nature  by  us  is  understood. 

Energy  spent  correcting  errors 

Is  a  loss  to. us  and  loss  to  those 

That  fill  our  lives  with  mental  terrors 

And  shapes  the  tree  as  the  sapling  grows. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  41 

The  ocean  in  all  her  majesty, 

The  stars  in  their  infinite  array, 
Have  not  the  charms  that  thou  hast  for  me 

At  the  dawn  of  morn  and  close  of  day. 

The  landscapes  have  those  golden  flowers 

That  enhance  their  beauty  day  and  night, 

And  shed  their  sweetness  in  moonlit  hours 
Upon  the  grand  and  glorious  sight. 

When  flowers  of  the  field  fade  away 

And  denote  their  days  are  numbered, 

We,  too,  perhaps  have  not  long  to  stay 

Where  once  with  them  we  sweetly  slumber'd. 

Then  they  with  the  elements  perish, 

And  leave  a  sadness  in  their  parting, 

Just  as  the  loss  of  those  we  cherish, 

While  yet  our  hearts  are  keenly  smarting. 

Thus  "The  Beatitude  of  Being" 

Whether  it  is  human  or  divine, 
Lies  largely  in  our  sense  of  seeing 

The  objects  to  which  we  most  incline. 


April  23,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


ABSENCE 

Oh,  Madaline,  dearest  Madaline, 

I  think  of  thee  from  over  the  sea, 

Through  the  fleeting  years  since  I  have  seen 
Your  face,  so  fair  and  sweet  to  me. 

Beneath  the  shade  of  tropical  trees, 

Where  birds  of  plumage  above  you  sing, 

And  perfume  of  flowers  scent  the  breeze 

That  around  your  presence  sweetly  cling. 

Oh,  could  you  waft  a  message  of  love 

Upon  the  soft  southern  winds  tonight, 

It  would  be  as  the  bright  stars  above, 

And  thrill  my  soul  with  ardent  delight. 

But  far,  far  away  where  mild  winds  blow, 
Where  every  day  is  summer  day, — 

Where  flowers  bloom  and  pineapples  grow, 

As  natives  chant  on  their  homeward  way. 

I  think  of  thee  at  the  dawn  of  day, 

When  the  early  light  is  pouring  through 

The  eastern  skies  in  gorgeous  array, 

And  drying  the  drops  of  morning  dew. 

I  think  of  thee  as  the  sun  sinks  low, 

And  the  shades  of  night  begin  to  fall 

Upon  the  scenes  that  around  me  flow 
Of  other  days  that  I  now  recall. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  43 

Far  out  over  the  blue  Pacific, 

Where  the  stars  so  beautifully  rise, 

On  the  billows  that  roll  terrific, 

Toward  the  Island  of  Paradise. 

There,  in  that  mystic  land  of  flowers, 

I  long  to  be  with  my  Madaline 
And  renew  the  old  time  happy  hours 

By  the  crimson  bouganvilia  vine. 

My  presence  there  perhaps  she  will  miss, 
As  the  surf  rolls  up  against  the  shore, 

And  she  looks  into  that  deep  abyss 

From  the  Pali's  vast  and  open  door. 

Then,  as  she  stands  on  that  precipice, 
O'erlooking  the  tranquil  vale  below, 

May  it  hold  her  in  a  spell  of  bliss, 

That  only  such  sweet  sensations  know. 

When  the  soul  in  rapturous  delight, 
Has  found  the  limit  of  its  longing, 

Like  birds,  in  their  gregarious  flight, 

Other  lands  they  want  to  be  thronging. 

Then  will  not  my  absent  Madaline, 

From  over  the  restless,  rolling  seas, 

Return  after  this  prolonged  dream, 

And  essay  my  heart  once  more  to  please  ? 


February  19,  1920 


44  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


RADIANT  ROSES 

Radiant  roses  blooming  today 

In  wondrous  beauty  we  are  seeing, 

Perfume  the  breezes  that  round  them  play, 
And  leave  a  fondness  of  their  being. 

Bees  alight  on  their  fragrant  petals, 

And  sip  from  them  the  sweetest  pleasures, 

While  their  crests  shine  like  golden  metals 
In  these  rich  and  radiant  treasures. 

Then  fly  away  with  the  rose's  breath 

Upon  their  soft,  golden-gilded  wings, 

While  the  roses  stand  as  still  as  death, 
And  over  them  the  oriole  sings. 

Beautiful,  buoyant  buds,  bursting  forth 
In  all  the  glory  of  their  rapture, 

Caress  the  winds  from  the  west  and  north, 
And  delight  in  the  joy  they  capture. 

Bumblebees  from  the  fields  of  the  east 

Bearing  golden-crested  backs  and  wings 

On  these  rich  red  roses,  stop  to  feast 
And  listen  while  the  oriole  sings. 

Sublime  depths  of  radiant  roses 

In  the  glory  of  their  grand  array, 

Where  nature  in  her  beauty  poses 

During  the  beautiful  month  of  May. 

Garden  City,  Missouri,  May  29,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  45 


RAMBLING  OF  THE  RIVER 

Oh!  glist'ning  waters  of  merry  stream, 

Rambling  through  arid  lands  of  the  West, 

Sparkling  in  the  morning's  sunlight  gleam, 
With  vivacity,  beauty  and  zest. 

From  distant  mountains,  where  storms  blowing, 
Darken  the  heights  of  your  lofty  source, 

While  through  barren  lands,  slowly  flowing, 
You  pursue  a  calm  and  peaceful  course. 

Dividing  the  level,  crimson  soil, 

Beautiful  landscapes  around  you  lay, 

Where  the  Moquis  roam  and  cowboys  toil 
From  dawn  of  morn  to  the  close  of  day. 

Sheep  and  cattle  come  over  the  hills, 

To  take  a  draught  from  your  shallow  banks. 

As  their  thirsty  throats  it  quickly  fills, 

And  roundens  out  their  sunken  flanks. 

Oh!  beautiful  scenes  of  western  style, 

How  bright  the  sun  and  blue  the  sky — 

How  sweet  to  linger  here  awhile 

Ere  the  golden  day  begins  to  die! 

Serene  the  glimmering  sheets  of  gray 

That  stretch  afar  to  the  Moquis  mounds, 

As  sunbeams  on  their  hazy  heights  play 

And  bask  with  warmth  the  surrounding  grounds. 


46  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Then  to  the  west,  the  land  we  love  best, 
A  silvery  thread  is  winding  on, 

Where  roams  the  Moquis  with  food  in  quest, 
Before  the  day  is  forever  gone. 

Antelope,  perchance,  may  now  be  seen 
Emerging  from  the  red,  rolling  land, 

Where  they  will  feed  on  the  spots  of  green 
That  appear  between  the  drifting  sand. 

Onward,  westward,  serenely  flowing 

Into  distance  and  darkness  of  night, 

Where  sage  bush  and  pinons  are  growing 
In  their  native  glory  and  delight. 

Western  horizon  changed  to  gray, 

Recalls  that  afterglow  of  the  Nile, 

Where  so  beautifully  dies  the  day 

In  the  softness  of  its  vesper  smile. 

The  arena,  now  rugged  and  wild, 

As  the  river  runs  round  bluffs  and  stone, — 
While  bright,  white  stars,  their  claims  have  filed 

Where  the  golden  sun  has  lately  shone. 

Then  through  the  gorge  it  forges  its  way, 
Under  light  of  the  beautiful  moon, 

Until  at  last,  by  the  length  of  day, 

Its  rambling  course  ends  only  too  soon. 

November,  1919 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  47 

MEMORIAL 

{Lines  following  news  of  the  death  of  my  old  friend,  William  F.  Bean,  of  Belfast,  Maine) 

My  faithful  friend  of  thirty  years, 

Now  lies  beneath  the  shade  of  trees, 

While  I  meditate  with  burning  tears, 

As  mournfully  blows  the  summer  breeze. 

End  of  the  trail  he  reached  at  last, 

After  years  of  wand'ring  far  away, 

From  the  early  scenes  of  old  Belfast, 

But  now,  alas!  has  return'd  to  stay. 

Dismal  indeed  is  the  gloom  it  cast 

Upon  his  friends  in  different  lands, 

But  deeper  still  the  gloom  of  Belfast, 

As  she  clasps  no  more  his  friendly  hands. 

A  more  noble  man,  a  truer  friend, 

It  has  not  been  my  fortune  to  know; 

His  life,  simple  and  without  pretend; 

He  formed  that  friendship  sure  to  grow. 

As  flowers  mature  from  planting  seeds, 

So  man  goes  on  from  youth  to  old  age; 

Bestowing  a  record  of  good  deeds, 

Upon  the  constant  throng  of  the  stage. 

But  when  all  is  said  and  all  is  done, 

We  realize  the  grave  is  our  goal, 
Unless  another  life  has  begun 

With  the  silent  parting  of  the  soul. 


48  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh!  then  shifting  winds  of  the  seasons, 

Touch  tenderly  the  boughs  above  him, 

In  deference  to  the  fond  reasons 

Of  those  who  will  forever  love  him. 

It  seems  he  is  not  dead,  but  resting 

Beneath  the  solemn  walls  of  the  ground, 

Where  birds  in  the  green  trees  are  nesting 
In  their  beauty  and  stillness  profound. 

Then  may  eternal  peace  surround  him, 

While  under  the  growing  grass  he  lies: — 

It  is  where  the  Creator  found  him 

And  where  He  will  command  him  to  rise. 

July  13,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  49 


THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING 

Oh,  the  pain  of  this  pensive  parting 

As  our  sojourn  now  draws  to  a  close; — 

Like  clouds  on  the  horizon  starting, 

Deeper  and  darker  its  colour  grows. 

Carlotto,  Carlotto,  is  it  true 

That  our  pleasures  must  come  to  an  end, 
As  we  now  part  in  final  adieu, 

After  the  time  you  have  been  my  friend  ? 

Then  as  the  waves  splash  over  the  sea, 
And  flash  their  sparkle  upon  the  air, 

Will  you  not  think,  think  fondly  of  me, 

When  I'm  absent  and  you  know  not  where  ? 

The  stars  still  shine  and  the  waves  roll  on 
In  the  majesty  of  their  being; — 

And  will  no  doubt  after  we  are  gone, 

When  others  their  beauty  are  seeing. 

Oh,  could  we  prolong  this  peaceful  spell 

Into  the  realms  of  eternal  bliss, 
How  sweet  would  be  the  story  to  tell, 

Instead  of  the  cold  sadness  of  this! 

But  the  weight  of  our  painful  parting 

Rests  heavy  on  my  conscience  tonight, 

And  the  sting  to  my  heart  is  smarting 

With  the  strain  of  this  sorrowful  plight. 


50  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

To  us  was  given  but  a  brief  spell 

In  which  to  arouse  our  fondest  thought, 

Then  comes  the  hour  of  a  sad  farewell, 

And  all  is  brought  to  an  end  and  naught. 

But  those  fond  mem'ries  will  linger  on, 
When  looking  o'er  pages  of  the  past, 

And  even  though  their  brightness  has  gone, 
Their  sweetness  will  still  within  us  last. 

September,  1921 


— Fear  and  apprehension  are  two  dark  alleys  that  often 
lead  to  unnecessary  and  unwarranted  worry. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  51 


THE  MOON 

Oh,  moon,  thou  cold,  white,  radiant  moon, 
That  cast  thy  shadows  in  forests  green, 

Where  balmy  nights  in  beautiful  June 
With  all  thy  glory  is  now  supreme. 

Serenely,  thou  dost  lighten  the  skies, 

And  shine  on  my  mother's  grave  tonight, 

Where  far  away  she  quietly  lies 

Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  mellow  light. 

Mirrored  upon  lakes  and  rivers, 

Thy  rays  pour  through  the  emerald  trees, 
And  leaves  the  leaf  that  gently  quivers 

In  the  sweetness  of  a  summer  breeze. 

Like  jewels  in  their  nightly  luster, 

Thy  beauty  pervades  the  earth  below, 

And  myriads  of  stars  round  thee  cluster 
In  infinite  depths  we  cannot  know. 

The  night,  now  calm  with  thy  presence  spread, 
Is  more  sublime  than  the  light  of  day, 

Reminding  us  of  those  that  are  dead 
And  all  but  mem'ry  passed  away. 

From  Arabia's  bleak  and  barren  lands, 
To  the  sultry  shores  of  Singapore, 

Thy  glorious  light  upon  them  stands, 

And  enchants  the  scene  forever  more. 


52 


Beneath  the  shade  of  hemlock  and  pine, 

There  flow  little  rushing,  rambling  streams, 

That  reflect  the  light  almost  divine, 

From  under  thy  mild,  nocturnal  beams. 

Then  far  away  over  land  and  sea, 

Thy  light  falls  fast  on  the  mammoth  waves, 
And  renders  there  that  tranquillity 

We  find  in  looking  on  lost  ones'  graves. 

Oh,  thou  beautiful,  beautiful  moon! 

In  all  the  fullness  of  thy  glory, 
Thou  fadest  away  only  too  soon, 

And  thereby  leave  me  sad  and  sorry. 


June,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  53 


THE  FLAGS 

We  admire  the  great  American  flag 

With  its  colors  of  red,  white  and  blue, 

Though  sometimes  shattered  like  a  rag, 
After  fighting  battles  brave  and  true. 

England,  with  her  Union  Jack  flowing 
To  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth; 

While  France  in  tri-colors  is  glowing 

In  triumphant  form  and  native  mirth. 

Greece  and  Spain  occupy  little  space 

In  the  realms  of  great  nations  today; 

Defeated  by  battles  taken  place, 

Their  prestige  has  long  passed  away. 

And  old  Russia,  ill  led  by  the  Reds, 
Has  suffer'd  the  tortures  of  hell, 

While  her  flag  has  been  trampled  to  shreds, 
As  beneath  it  her  votaries  fell. 

Thus  the  flag  has  its  triumphs  and  trials — 
As  an  emblem  of  justice  it  stands, — 

Whether  it  waves  in  sorrow,  or  smiles 
At  home  or  in  far,  foreign  lands. 

But  the  blue  flags  I  behold  today, 

Are  not  the  flags  our  country  obey, 

They  are  the  wild  flags  of  Iowa, 

That  brighten  fields  in  the  month  of  May. 


54  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

They  live  their  lives  and  serve  their  calling 
That  fills  the  purpose  of  God's  wise  will, 

Without  the  strain  upon  them  falling, 

We  find  in  flags  that  have  fought  to  kill. 

Oh!  then,  hail  the  beautiful  blue  flags, 

As  they  grow  along  the  green  highway, 

Where  the  wind  upon  them  slowly  lags 
During  the  rapturous  month  of  May. 

May,  1921 


THE  RISING  SUN 

Dawn  of  morning  through  the  eastern  skies 
Expands  its  light  over  hill  and  dale, 

When  first  we  view  the  golden  sunrise 

That  quickly  pervades  the  silent  vale. 

Joyous  songbirds  emerge  from  the  trees 
And  charge  the  air  with  melodies  fair, 

While  flowers  supply  the  honey  bees 

With  exquisite  sweetness  hidden  there. 

Carmine  streaks  across  the  sky  extends 
In  brilliant  and  beautiful  style, 

While  over  the  land  its  brightness  blends 
And  lightens  the  way  from  mile  to  mile. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  55 


I  LOVE  TO  WATCH  THE  WATERFALLS 

Oh!  I  love  to  watch  the  waterfalls 

And  see  their  soft,  surf-like  ripples  run 

Down  the  smooth  and  slanting  concrete  walls 
Under  the  rays  of  a  morning  sun. 

Onward,  onward,  forever  they  flow, 

In  a  mild  and  mellow  tone  of  light, 

As  over  them  lifts  a  golden  glow, 

And  silv'ry  shades  at  coming  of  night. 

Then,  under  the  charm  of  rising  moon, 

There  comes  a  spell  of  awe  and  delight, 

That  crowns  the  joy  of  twilight  in  June, 
For  those  who  see  this  beautiful  sight. 

The  quietude  of  night  fast  falling 

Upon  these  glorious  waterfalls, 
Reminds  me  of  some  spirit  calling, 

As  my  captured  heart  it  now  enthralls. 

Oh!  peaceful  falls  of  Saint  Anthony, 

As  wave  after  wave  exhaust  their  force, 

And  die  away  in  tranquillity 

While  others  follow  upon  their  course. 

How  I  love  to  watch  these  waterfalls 
In  all  the  beauty  of  their  raptures! 

For  within  them,  there's  something  that  calls 
Unto  me,  as  my  heart  it  captures. 


56  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  could  our  lives  like  Saint  Anthony 
Flow  on  and  on  in  joy  forever, 

How  pleasant  the  chain  of  life  would  be, 
With  never  a  chance  for  it  to  sever! 

Yet  as  I  watch  this  water  flowing, 

I  feel  it  ne'er  will  return  again; — 

Like  human  lives,  it  too  is  going 
To  a  final  rest,  there  to  remain. 

Then  farewell  to  these  beautiful  falls 

That  charm  this  region  every  hour;- 

Like  stars  above,  their  presence  recalls 
Nature's  proof  of  a  higher  power. 

Minneapolis,  June,  1921 


— The  human  tongue  is  often  too  subservient  to  the 
impulsiveness  of  the  mind. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  57 


THE  GEM  THAT  SHINES  THE  BRIGHTEST 

The  sparkling  gem  that  shines  the  brightest 
Within  my  memory  of  the  past, 

Lies  in  the  Alps,  where  not  the  slightest 
Cloud  of  discontent  on  me  was  cast. 

Oh!  beautiful  spot  that  stirs  my  heart 
With  emotions  at  thy  sublime  sight, 

As  raptures  through  me  thou  dost  impart 
Where  heaven  and  earth  seem  to  unite. 

Mammoth  mountains  in  their  lofty  height, 
Rear  their  peaks  to  the  ever  blue  skies, 

Where  we  beheld  to  our  heart's  delight 
This  dream  of  an  earthly  paradise. 

Oh!  then  the  grandeur  of  Lake  Lucerne, 
That  stretches  away  against  the  hills, 

Starts  the  fire  in  my  bosom  to  burn 

As  my  heart  and  soul  it  quickly  thrills. 

The  silv'ry  moon,  with  her  subtle  smile, 

Bathes  the  towns  and  trees  in  mellow  light, 

As  our  rapt'rous  souls  it  did  beguile 

In  the  charms  of  this  beautiful  night! 

Fond  dreams  of  these  Elysian  fields, 

As  in  their  glory  that  night  was  seen, 

Again  and  again  upon  me  steals, 

As  I  saw  them  with  my  sweet  Irene. 

Rrunnen,  Switzerland,  August,  1921 


58  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


PARTING 

The  vessel,  now  parting  from  her  pier, 

Waves  farewell  to  those  who  'round  it  stand 

Are  in  the  act  of  shedding  a  tear, 

E're  taking  leave  of  their  friends  at  hand. 

Adown  the  great  river  St.  Lawrence, 

Where  hills  and  valleys  border  her  side, 

Beautiful  as  the  hills  of  Florence, 

The  ship  serenely  and  slowly  glides. 

Constant  trees  and  towns  and  tall  church  spires 

Align  this  river  along  the  way, 
And  tempt  the  heart  with  longing  desires, 

Upon  its  banks  forever  to  stay. 

Then  follows  the  tranquil  spell  of  night, 

As  the  moon  o'er  the  landscape  appears, 

And  soothes  the  soul  with  quiet  delight, 

That  dispels  at  once  all  faults  and  fears. 

But  trees  that  grow  and  flowers  that  bloom 
Within  the  realms  of  their  own  abode, 

Feel  keen  the  sting  of  invading  doom, 

When  winter  comes  and  their  leaves  corrode. 

Oh!  look  where  I  will,  the  wide  world  o'er, 
I  see  not  the  face  of  Madaline; — 

Her  peaceful  light  shines  on  me  no  more 

But  leaves  me  in  the  depths  of  a  dream. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  59 

Faces  fading  in  the  land  behind 

Impress  me  now  with  deeper  concern, 

And  the  sharp  sting  of  absence  I  find, 
Upon  my  bosom  begins  to  burn. 

But  the  ship  sails  out  into  the  sea 

In  all  its  vast,  majestic  being, 
While  I  am  fondly  thinking  of  thee, 

And  trusting,  trusting,  without  seeing. 

Oh!  could  I  but  know  that  all  is  well 

Beyond  the  sound  of  murmuring  sea, 

I  would  rejoice  in  this  silent  spell 

That  now  exists  between  thee  and  me. 

Then  let  me  implore  the  rolling  waves, 

In  all  the  glory  of  their  power, 
To  serve  us  now  with  a  might  that  saves, 

And  keep  us  safe  in  every  hour. 


60  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


SHALL  I  MEET  THEE  NO  MORE? 

Shall  I  meet  thee  no  more,  Katharine, 

Must  the  parting  of  our  ways  come  now  ? 

Like  the  strange  vanishing  of  a  dream, 
I  know  not  exactly  why  or  how. 

The  fountain  of  friendship,  vitiated 

Like  grass  that  has  famished  for  rain, 

Has  often  been  pleadingly  stated 

In  the  wild  wandering  of  my  brain. 

Time  will  not  permit  us  to  prolong 

Delusive  hopes  of  happiness  beyond, 

As  things  by  delay  surely  go  wrong, 

And  deprive  us  of  that  we  are  fond. 

Years  have  multiplied,  sweet  Katharine, 

Since  we  were  strangely  brought  together, 

And  at  various  times,  it  would  seem, 

Our  course  has  been  through  stormy  weather. 

In  winter  we  look  forward  to  spring, 

Then  to  the  golden  harvest  of  grain 

The  beautiful  summer  days  will  bring, 
And  filling  of  granaries  again. 

We  anticipate  future  chances 

And  neglect  the  precious  present, 

As  time  upon  us  merely  glances, 

And  leaves  but  shadows  of  the  pleasant. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  61 

Shall  I  meet  thee  no  more,  Katharine, 
As  over  woodland  and  plain  I  stray, 

Where  phlox  and  roses  portray  the  scene 
In  the  beautiful  gardens  of  May  ? 

Where  western  winds  sweep  over  the  fields, 
And  swerve  the  grain  in  ocean-like  waves, 

As  mighty  warrior  to  warrior  yields 
Before  they  go  to  heroic  graves. 

Then  comes  the  dreaded  "drifting  apart," 

Like  travelers  in  far  foreign  lands, 
That  forever  grieves  the  human  heart, 

And  leaves  it  restless  as  rolling  sands. 

Oh!  shall  we  meet  no  more,  Katharine, 

In  the  sweet  shade  of  hills  and  hedges, 

Where  mid-summer  cast  its  golden  sheen, 

When  first  we  form'd  our  sacred  pledges  ? 

Life's  losing  battles  that  we  have  fought 

Throughout  the  years  of  anxiety, 
My  soul  with  eagerness,  they  have  fraught, 

And  sometimes  doubts  of  their  propriety. 

Then  Kath'rine,  must  I  meet  thee  no  more, — 
Must  I  now  forego  this  earthly  bliss 

Until,  perchance,  upon  heaven's  shore, 
We  may  abridge  the  present  abyss  ? 


March  I,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 
THE  RAIN 

(.Dedicated  to  my  only  sisttr,  Aharetta  Decker) 

Falling  of  the  drizzling,  northeast  rain 
Upon  low  roofs  of  narrow  sheeting, 

Brings  old  memories  to  me  again, 

Of  years  gone  by  and  years  now  fleeting. 

Out  on  the  emerald,  rolling  hills, 

Fall  a  thousand  drops  for  ev'ry  grass, 

And  serenely  run  into  the  rills, 

That  along  their  bound'ry  quickly  pass. 

Rain,  gentle,  nourishing,  needed  rain 

That  revives  growing  grass  and  flowers, 

And  refreshens  the  green  fields  of  grain 
By  mild  and  intermittent  showers. 

Steady  falls  the  rain  on  hill  and  dale; 

The  clouds  are  heavy  and  dense  and  dark; 
While  sheets  of  water  lie  in  the  vale, 

And  submerge  the  nest  of  meadow  lark. 

My  sister  will  know  what  this  implies, 

When  she  looks  over  fields  we  crossed, 

Where  stood  the  water  from  leaky  skies, 

And  bewilder'd  birds  their  nests  had  lost. 

Trickling  down  the  glossy  window  pane 

Rain  drops  leave  their  promiscuous  trail 

Like  straws  scatter'd  by  a  hurricane, 

Or  the  prints  of  a  prowling  rat's  tail. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  63 

Cloud  after  cloud  sweeps  over  the  hills, 
Dispersing  rain  to  the  thirsty  land, 

Like  wave  of  the  sea  when  spray  it  spills 
Upon  the  drifting  and  shifting  sand. 

Down  drops  the  rain,  in  pattering  sound, 
Like  distant  rumbling  of  waterfalls, 

That  leap  from  heights  to  the  level  ground, 
And  flow  away  to  the  echo  calls. 

Oh,  then  spare  not  the  glorious  rain, 

As  it  restores  the  fruit  and  flowers 
Throughout  the  country  of  hill  and  plain 

And  semi-barren  city  bowers. 

Little  drops  dash  down  the  garden  lane, 

And  are  absorbed  by  atmosphere, 
But  fill  the  purpose  of  precious  rain 

Before  they  vanish  and  disappear. 

Then  welcome  anew  the  gladsome  rain, 
As  it  prevails  over  land  and  sea; — 

Its  timely  fall  is  our  earthly  gain, 

Its  pleasant  sound,  a  solace  to  me. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


ENROUTE  TO  ROME 

From  out  the  tunnels  dark  and  gloomy, 
Hills  and  valleys  of  emerald  hue, 

Spread  forth  their  vista,  broad  and  roomy, 
Beneath  the  skies  of  a  turquoise  blue. 

Snow-white  oxen  to  the  plowman's  word, 

Hitched  two  and  two  and  sometimes  four, 

Move  slowly  on  and  are  scarcely  heard, 

As  they  invert  the  soil  more  and  more.    , 

Festoons  of  grape-vines  unite  the  trees, 

Over  hill  and  dale  forever  more, 
While  gently  blows  a  refreshing  breeze, 

As  the  sunlight  through  their  branches  pour. 

Tall  towers  of  stone  above  them  rise, 
In  their  loftiness,  past  and  present, 

Where,  beneath  the  blue  Italian  skies, 
They  picture  scenes  forever  pleasant. 

Further  on,  the  turbulent  Tiber 

Flows  serenely  t'ward  the  nearby  sea, 

Where  wreaths  of  green  and  growing  fiber 
Enhance  the  beauty  still  dear  to  me. 

The  pure  white  cattle  with  spreading  horns 
Traverse  the  valleys  at  close  of  day, 

Where  blooming  flowers  are  mix'd  with  thorns 
As  the  evening  sunbeams  round  them  play. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  65 

Thus  dies  the  day  of  romantic  scenes 
In  the  vesper  spell  of  setting  sun, 

Where  falls  the  glow  of  its  after  sheens 
Upon  the  night  that  has  just  begun. 

Roma,  Agoslo  17,  1921 


COME 

Came  with  me  where  the  oranges  grow, 
And  the  sun  shines  with  a  golden  glow; — 
Where  the  aster  and  rose  ever  vie 
And  the  sweet  daffodils  never  die. 

Come  where  the  palm  trees  wave  to  the  breeze 
As  they  waft  their  shade  toward  the  seas; 
Oh!    come  with  your  friend  and  take  a  chance 
In  this  lovely  land  of  sweet  romance. 

Come  where  the  flowers  are  fresh  and  bright, 
And  calm  days  close  to  the  charms  of  night; — 
Where  soft  winds  blow  o'er  the  nearby  shore, 
And  the  waves  roll  on  forever  more. 

Come  with  me  where  this  beauty  is  seen, 
Where  the  skies  are  blue  and  land  is  green; 
For  it  is  there  my  heart  longs  to  be 
In  realms  of  joy  forever  with  thee. 


September  8,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


LINES  TO  A  LADY  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 

As  rivers  fed  from  fountain  and  spring, 
May  true  happiness  your  Birthday  bring; 
One  by  one  the  years  pass  swiftly  by 
And  test  the  friendship  'tween  you  and  I. 

I  feel  the  loss  of  your  presence  now, 
And  to  condone  it,  I  know  not  how; 
Yet  if  my  loss  is  your  secret  gain, 
From  constant  urging  I  must  refrain. 

Deeper  the  pangs  of  my  wounded  heart, 
Deeper  the  sting  of  its  poignant  smart, 
Under  the  strain  I  try  to  befriend 
One  whom  I  shall  love  to  the  end. 

It  is  the  love  we  see  receding 
That  sets  our  hearts  again  to  bleeding, 
And  knowing  thus  there  is  a  reason 
For  what  we  call  a  bitter  treason. 

Could  I  command  the  touch  of  your  hand, 
And  bind  my  brow  with  that  sacred  strand 
We  bestow  on  those  we  understand, 
When  that  matures  which  we  had  planned. 

But  the  fountain  streams,  like  phantom  dreams, 
Wait  not  upon  our  belated  means; 
They  vanish  away  ere  close  of  day 
And  leave  a  debt  of  regret  to  pay. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  67 

Oh!  could  I  impress  the  joyfulness, 
If  on  your  birthday  I  might  caress 
Those  lovely  lips,  so  sweet  to  me, 
But  now,  alas!  I  seldom  see. 


December  26,  1920 


MY  VALENTINE 

Oh,  could  I  send  this  fond  thought  of  mine 
Over  the  long  and  selected  wires, 

I  would  proclaim  you  my  valentine, 

With  all  the  force  of  my  heart's  desires. 

A  message  of  love  I  fain  would  start 
Upon  the  golden  wings  of  pleasure, 

Laden  with  the  substance  of  my  heart 

For  you,  yes,  you,  my  precious  treasure. 

Then  let  me  impart  this  thought  to  thee, 
As  the  moon  and  stars  forever  shine, 

I'll  freely  submit  my  ardent  plea, 

If  thou  will  but  be  my  valentine. 


68  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


ALONG  THE  COUNTRY  ROADS 

Over  hills  and  dales  the  motors  run, 
As  on  their  journey  they  have  begun; 
By  the  clouds  of  dust  they  leave  their  trail 
And  meet  the  man  who  carries  the  mail. 

Birds  now  singing  in  the  hawthorn  trees, 
Fill  the  air  with  mirthful  melodies, 
While  flowers,  blooming  beside  the  way, 
Complete  the  charm  of  a  perfect  day. 

Each  bird  and  bee,  I  can  plainly  see, 
Has  for  its  shelter  some  waving  tree, 
But  soar  away  to  the  fields  around 
To  gather  food  from  the  fertile  ground. 

After  feasting  on  the  grain  and  grass, 
They  hum  and  sing  to  people  that  pass, 
Then  renew  their  flight  in  cheerful  sound, 
On  their  happy  journey  homeward  bound. 

Thorny  hedges  by  the  smooth,  straight  roads, 

Shade  the  horses  in  drawing  their  loads, 

As  up  hill  and  down  they  speed  along 

With  a  constant  choice  'tween  right  and  wrong. 

Children  now  hurrying  on  to  school, 
Excite  the  brawl  of  the  stupid  mule, 
And  cattle  in  the  fields  are  grazing, 
With  golden  sun  upon  them  blazing. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  69 

Emerald  fields,  that  we  now  behold, 

Will  soon  take  on  the  color  of  gold, 

And  wave  with  the  winds  morning  and  noon, 

Under  the  skies  of  beautiful  June. 

Retreating  squirrels  from  bough  to  bough 
Leap  o'er  the  brooks  that  beneath  them  flow, 
And  the  streams  are  fraught  with  frogs  and  toads, 
As  we  glide  "Along  the  Country  Roads." 


May,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


MEMOIR,  TWENTY-FIFTH  WEDDING 
ANNIVERSARY 

(Mr.  and  Mrs.  West,  March  25,  1921) 

Five  and  twenty  years  ago  today, 
These  young  folks  set  out  upon  their  way 
Across  the  plain  of  married  life, 
As  it  appeared  with  joy  and  strife. 

Over  hill  and  dale  their  journey  wound 
Through  the  trying  paths  of  stony  ground; 
But  youth  and  vigor  buoyed  them  on 
As  sunshine  comes  after  clouds  have  gone. 

When  trials  and  troubles  upon  them  fell, 
To  one  another  they'd  often  tell 
Of  hope  they  had  from  heaven  above, 
Founded  upon  the  purest  of  love. 

There  is  no  knowing  what  can  be  done 
When  two  hearts  unite  and  work  as  one; 
Their  strength,  more  than  doubly  multiplied 
By  standing  firm  at  each  other's  side. 

As  a  tree  may  rise  or  fall  alone, 
So  with  man  and  wife  'tis  clearly  shown 
That  if  through  storms  they  stick  together, 
There  will  be  calm  and  clearer  weather. 

Happy  are  they  who  can  steer  their  way 
Through  life's  little  squalls  from  day  to  day, 
And  then  at  night,  when  the  stars  are  bright, 
Repose  in  rest,  feeling  all  is  right. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  71 

Married  life,  like  the  struggling  trees, 
Embraces  winter's  cold,  icy  breeze; 
And  when  they  review  their  journey  west 
They  think,  perhaps,  it  was  for  the  best. 

There  were  at  times  some  trying  ordeals, 
And  thought  of  hardships  still  o'er  us  steals, 
As  we  recall  struggles  of  the  past, 
That  upon  our  hearts  their  shadows  cast. 

It  is  consoling  to  you,  Mr.  West, 
To  know  in  trouble,  you've  stood  the  test, 
And  after  these  five  and  twenty  years 
Yourself  and  wife  have  no  bitter  tears. 

May  you  remain  in  realms  of  flowers, 
While  traveling  through  life's  mated  hours, 
And  continue  long  this  golden  age 
That  now  surrounds  your  happiest  stage. 

We  are  glad,  in  this  way,  to  attest 
Our  kind  regards  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  West, 
And  hope  their  future  will  long  be  fraught 
With  fond  mem'ries  of  our  present  thought. 


72  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


COMPANIONSHIP 

Oh!    come  walk  with  me  and  talk  with  me, 
And  watch  the  sparkling  rivers  run 

From  the  golden  valleys  to  the  sea, 
That  lies  toward  the  setting  sun. 

Through  forest  and  field  they  glide  along 
Serenely  as  the  heavens  above; — 

To  youth  and  old  age  they  sing  a  song 

That  thrills  the  soul  with  heavenly  love. 

Like  the  birds  and  bees  that  dwell  in  trees, 
They  acclaim  their  joy  every  hour, 

And  soothe  our  troubles  as  lotus  leaves 
Soothe  the  waters  with  magic  power. 

The  landscape  of  life  before  us  lies, 
If  we  but  behold  its  beauty  dawn 

O'er  the  gilded  dome  of  sunlit  skies, 

And  claim  our  own  e'er  the  years  are  gone. 

Oh!  then  walk 'with  me  and  talk  with  me, 
And  sing  the  lyrics  that  cheer  our  way, 

As  mirthful  birds  in  the  hawthorn  tree 
Cheer  the  melodious  month  of  May. 

Come,  walk  with  me  in  that  balmy  street, 

Where  orange  blossoms  perfume  the  air, — 

Where  men  and  maidens  are  want  to  meet, 

And  feast  upon  the  charms  that  are  there. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  73 

Our  pathway  now  is  strewn  with  flowers, 
And  beautiful  views  before  us  rise, 

As  serenely  pass  the  golden  hours 
That  beckon  us  on  to  paradise. 

Then  let  us  walk  and  talk  together, 

Along  the  channels  that  guide  our  way; 

Though  cloudy  sometimes  be  the  weather, 
Sunbeams  will  again  around  us  play. 

April,  1921 


74  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


TO  THE  ENDS  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

While  the  summer  days  last,  let  us  go, — 
You  and  I — to  that  enchanted  land, 

Where  arches  the  beautiful  rainbow 

Over  golden  hills  and  silvery  strand. 

Let  us  traverse  that  landscape  and  plain, 
Where  fields  and  forests  before  us  lay, 

Until  we  reach  the  highlands  of  Maine, 
At  the  close  of  a  sweet  summer  day. 

Delicate  colors  of  the  rainbow 

Taint  the  skies  in  marvelous  attire, 

With  the  changing  shades  that  come  and  go, 
From  palest  hue  to  the  depths  of  fire. 

Oh,  let  us  fly  in  realms  of  the  sky 

To  the  distant  ends  of  the  rainbow; 

For  'tis  there  the  golden  treasures  lie, 

And  there  where  the  purest  waters  flow. 

After  showers,  the  rainbow  appears 

As  a  pledge  that  the  storm  has  ceased, 

And  allays  any  apprehending  fears 
By  its  presence  in  faraway  east. 

We  think  over  there,  there  is  no  care 

To  disturb  the  peaceful,  pleasant  soul; — - 
And  'tis  there  that  all  is  bright  and  fair 
With  the  delusive  rainbow  our  goal. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  75 

The  roses  proclaim  their  pink  and  red, 

The  violets  their  velvet  of  blue, 
But  rainbows,  their  exquisite  tints  shed 

Upon  the  troubled  skies  they  subdue. 

Then  let  us  fly  through  the  balmy  sky 

To  ends  of  the  romantic  rainbow; 
Where  beneath  its  arch,  rich  treasures  lie, 

For  all  we  think  and  for  all  we  know. 


ANIMAL  LIFE 

(Assuming  that  man  belongs  to  the  Animal  Kingdom) 

As  squirrels  inhabit  the  highest  trees 

And  fish  the  depths  of  the  lurid  ocean, 

So  does  man,  in  his  mean  extremities, 
Have  ideals  of  a  similar  notion. 

It  depends  upon  the  creature  that  lives 
In  the  woods  or  water  or  atmosphere, 

Whether  or  not  the  environment  gives 

Adequate  pleasure  for  the  time  he's  here. 

But  venturesome  man  explores  dark  regions 
In  the  remotest  precincts  of  the  earth 

And  there  discovers  the  mystic  legions 

That  divert  him  to  his  primitive  birth. 


76  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


TICK  OF  THE  TELEGRAPH 

It  makes  the  world  weep  and  makes  it  laugh, 
This  constant  tick  of  the  telegraph; 
From  over  the  seas  it  brings  the  news, 
Of  kings  and  crowns  and  suffering  Jews. 

There  comes  a  flash,  Peru  is  shaken, 
And  many  lives  by  earthquake  taken; 
Followed  by  some  sad  disaster, 
Upon  the  shores  of  Madagascar. 

Then  comes  the  battle  of  bulls  and  bears 
And  the  rise  and  fall  of  railroad  shares, 
With  stocks  and  steel  of  various  wealth, 
Stating  perchance,  the  President's  health. 

From  under  the  sea  the  cables  bring 
The  latest  acts  of  Belgium's  king, 
And  declares  the  trouble  in  Ireland 
Is  expanding  with  an  iron  hand. 

Report  of  many  crimes  in  New  York 
And  more  rioting  direct  from  Cork; 
Then  the  news  of  Bohemia's  battle 
With  the  famine  of  food  and  cattle. 

Over  distant  plain  and  mountain  peaks 
The  busy  wire  with  sensation  reeks, 
Till  the  latest  news  from  all  the  world 
Throughout  the  country  has  been  hurled. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  77 

Wonderful  is  the  work  they  display 
In  conveying  news  from  far  away; — 
It  barely  transpires  in  Tokyo 
Until  by  the  wires  we  fully  know. 

Attracted  by  the  familiar  sound, 
I  like  to  linger  upon  the  ground, 
And  mingle  with  the  fraternal  staff, 
Where  rings  the  tick  of  the  telegraph. 

But,  oh,  the  speed  of  dots  and  dashes, 
As  through  my  mind  there  quickly  flashes 
Words  of  which  I  can  catch  only  half, — 
This  rapid  "Tick  of  the  Telegraph." 


January,  1921 


78  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


TRIBUTARY  OF  THE  TWEED 

Down  beneath  the  green  and  golden  hills 
That  enclose  the  little  silver  stream, 

My  soul  it  charms  and  my  soul  it  thrills 
With  sylvan  touch  of  a  perfect  dream. 

Thousands  of  sheep  and  a  thousand  hills 
Animate  the  view  in  living  white, 

While  the  stream  flows  on  in  murm'ring  rills, 
Flashing  its  mirrors  all  day  and  night. 

On  its  banks  grow  the  Scottish  blue  bells, 
On  the  hillsides  are  hedges  of  green, 

Where  sky  and  earth  in  enchanting  spells 
Vie  and  revel  in  this  glorious  scene. 

Straight  fences  of  stone  divide  the  dells 

That  bound  this  beautiful  crystal  thread, 

And  the  bloom  of  flow'rs  with  sweetness  smells, 
Where  ancient  warriors'  wounds  have  bled. 

But  peaceful  now  is  this  tranquil  vale, 

Where  runs  the  river  with  rapid  speed 

Against  the  force  of  a  gentle  gale, 

And  helps  to  swell  the  romantic  Tweed. 

Melrose.  Scotland,  July  22,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  79 


THE  PEPPER  AND  POINSETTIA 

Said  the  pepper  to  the  poinsettia: — 

"I  am  dressing  in  crimson  and  green, 

To  please  my  adoring  Mayetta, 

As  the  most  beautiful  sight  she's  seen." 

The  poinsettia,  in  striking  bright  red, 

Replied  with  an  air  of  sharp  conquest: — 

"Your  colors  are  decidedly  dead, 

And  the  world  alone  will  judge  the  rest." 

"Pretty  pink  pods  in  garlands  galore, 

Half  hidden  beneath  the  shreds  of  green, 

My  beauty  creates  a  great  furore 

Among  those  who  that  beauty  has  seen." 

To  this  said  the  poinsettia:    "I  hold 

That  our  richness  shows  every  hour, 

As  compared  with  silver  and  gold; — 

You  are  the  weed,  I  am  the  flower." 

This  hurt  the  pride  of  the  pepper  tree 
As  one  who  feels  the  sting  of  defeat, 

And  in  its  efforts  it  tried  to  be 

In  every  way,  the  most  complete. 

The  poinsettia,  in  gorgeous  array, 

Smiles  merrily  on  the  gardens  green, 

And  in  so  making  this  grand  display 
Pleases  the  heart  of  fair  Madaline. 


80  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Then  being  brought  to  the  final  test 
(Between  Mayetta  and  Madaline), 

Both  admit  they  know  no  bounds  of  zest, 
In  the  enchantments  of  this  day  dream. 

November,  1921 


— Inexperience  is  the  key  that  locks  the  door  of  under 
standing. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  81 


FASCINATION  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

The  exquisite  charm  of  a  flower 

As  it  expands  in  pristine  purity, 

Implies  that  the  Creator's  power 
Lies  in  its  strength  of  security. 

Beautiful  flowers  of  perfect  form, 

Soft  as  the  evening  shades  of  twilight; — 
Yet  holding  their  own  through  wind  and  storm, 

Presenting  a  grand  and  gorgeous  sight. 

First  appears  the  early  narcissus, 

In  the  golden  depths  of  its  beauty, 

As  the  debonair,  bashful  misses 

Enters  upon  her  maiden  duty. 

Then  come  the  lily  and  peony 

In  the  rare  richness  of  their  glory, 

To  please  alike,  child  and  madonna, 
As  they  revive  the  Easter  story. 

Springtime  with  her  copious  flowers, 
Passes  swiftly  into  summer  days, 

Leaving  a  mem'ry  of  happy  hours 

That,  deep  within  us,  forever  stays. 

Larkspurs  of  radiant  sapphire  blue, 

Intermix'd  with  marigolds  and  phlox; 

While  asters,  in  their  varied  hue, 

Are  blushing  beneath  the  hollyhocks. 


82  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  sweet  blossoms  of  ultra-brightness, 

Beaming  with  beauty  on  vale  and  knoll; 

Filling  the  heart  with  joyful  lightness, 

While  holding  fast  the  rapturous  soul. 

Yet  the  "fascination  of  flowers," 

In  the  long-loved  gardens  of  home, 

Ceases  not  with  our  juvenile  hours, 
But  follow  us  wherever  we  roam. 

Marvelous  spells  of  little  bluebells, 

And  prolific  growth  of  goldenrod — 

Combined, — the  wealth  of  nature  tells, 
And  the  infinite  greatness  of  God. 

March,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  83 


PATIENCE  PROSTRATED 

Marea,  oh,  beautiful  Marea, 

My  spirit,  lowly  and  crushed, 

Is  longing  and  longing  for  thee, 

Although  its  voice  is  sadly  hush'd. 

Your  face  and  form  before  me  still, 

Enthralls  my  soul  with  that  desire 

We  ardently  wish  to  fulfill, 

While  yet  our  passions  are  on  fire. 

As  the  ship  sails  away  to  sea, 

Leaving  behind  tenderest  ties, 

My  thoughts  revert  to  sweet  Marea 

And  fill  my  heart  with  longing  sighs. 

Oh,  could  I  prolong  that  pleasure 
She  sometimes  imparted  to  me, 

What  a  grand  and  golden  treasure 
Her  loyal  love  to  me  would  be! 

But  I  can  see  she  loves  not  me; 

And  after  years,  I  realize 
It  is  the  caprice  of  Marea 

My  plaintive  heart  to  tantalize. 

Oh,  could  I  turn  to  stars  yet  bright 
In  the  firmament  of  the  skies, 

And  be  freed  from  that  dreaded  night 
Her  growing  coldness  signifies. 


84  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

But  nothing  within  my  power 

Can  alter  her  firm  decision 
For  even  the  space  of  an  hour 

Without  a  frown  of  derision. 

Then  free  me  from  those  dark  ordeals 
You  cast  upon  my  pensive  heart; 

For  sorrow  o'er  me  surely  steals 

When  it  becomes  our  time  to  part. 

Oh,  free  me,  free  me,  for  all  time, 

Of  mental  pain  you  cause  me  now; — 

It  is  a  caustic,  cruel  crime, 

To  wreathe  these  thorns  upon  my  brow. 

But  I'll  bear  the  sting  of  your  will 
Without  a  murmur  or  a  cry; 

And  fond  mem'ries.  my  heart  to  fill, 
Will  remain  between  you  and  I. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  85 


MELODIES  OF  MORNING 

Melodious  morning  breaks  o'er  the  hills 
As  fade  away  the  shadows  of  night, 

And  nature  in  her  glory  fulfills 

All  that  is  good  and  all  that  is  right. 

Little  birds  begin  at  six  to  sing 

In  the  branches  of  cottonwood  trees, 

Where  the  air  with  their  melodies  ring 
As  borne  away  by  the  gentle  breeze. 

When  all  is  quiet  at  dawn  of  day, 

These  little  blackbirds  begin  their  songs, 

As  if  on  waking,  they  want  to  say, 

"Oh,  Lord,  forgive  us  our  daily  wrongs." 

Thus  do  they  announce  the  light  of  day, 
As  it  falls  over  the  hills  and  vales, 

Then  quiet  their  songs  and  fly  away, 

Where  melodies  of  morning  prevails. 

Grass  and  flowers  give  proof  at  morning, 
Of  their  infinite  beauty  and  song, 

As  their  vivid  colors  speak  warning, 

Their  brightness  will  last  all  the  day  long. 

Again  the  birds,  the  little  blithe  birds, 

Whose  slumbers  of  others  they're  scorning, 

Are  up  themselves  and  after  the  curds, 
In  the  mild  melodies  of  morning. 


October,  1921 


86  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


WILLINGNESS 

If  only  that  which  is  required 

Be  rendered  to  our  fellow-man, 

We  lose  the  strongest  point  desired, 

And  defeat  the  object  of  God's  plan. 

He  who  merely  his  duty  has  done, 

As  daily  duty  is  bestowed, 
Has  not  the  favor  of  friendship  won, 

But  only  the  payment  he  owed. 

Compulsion  as  a  feature  in  life 

Renders  us  a  tyrannical  slave, 

And  weights  our  lives  with  sardonic  strife 
From  earliest  childhood  to  the  grave. 

But  if  by  our  chosen  volition 

WTe  anticipate  the  Master's  will, 

We  thereby  create  a  condition 
Forever  desirous  to  fulfill. 

If  our  aptitude  is  in  the  right, 

We  find  the  burdens  of  life  are  less, 

By  doing  goodness  with  all  our  might 

And  helping  others  their  lives  to  bless. 

Young  folks,  like  birds  in  bramble  bushes, 
Have  an  eminent  sense  of  delight, 

And  are  upheld  in  worldly  wishes 

By  that  impending,  enchanting  plight. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  87 

The  dawning  of  liberty  and  love, 

Impels  us  to  take  lessons  from  those 

Who,  like  the  swift  soaring  of  a  dove, 

From  humbleness  to  heights,  have  arose. 

Springs  that  bubble  up  and  flow  away 

In  ecstasy  of  joy  and  delight, 
Find  that  boundaries  around  them  lay 

In  the  course  of  their  romantic  flight. 

But  at  last  they  reach  the  distant  sea, 

And  are  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  deep, 

As  man  goes  on  through  eternity, 

And  wakes  no  more  from  eternal  sleep. 

As  a  river  that  flows  to  the  seas, 

This  life  is  a  source  of  usefulness, 
If  our  fellow-men  we  strive  to  please, 

And  prevail  on  them  our  love  to  press. 

Labor  is  our  best  friend  in  disguise, 

When  performed  with  a  willing  hand, 

And  provides  us  that  exalted  prize, 

We  regard  as  triumphant  and  grand. 

The  sting  of  compulsion  is  cheated, 

By  cheerful  willingness  to  exceed, 
That  which  is  so  often  repeated, 

Within  the  avaricious  man's  greed. 

Willingness  assists  muscle  and  mind 

To  mount  the  arduous  steps  of  toil, 

As  spiritual  light  aids  the  blind 

Through  the  darkness  of  life's  endless  coil. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Father  Time  is  a  stolid  fellow, 

But  has  a  strength  of  beauty  in  him 

That  comes  with  the  leaves,  red  and  yellow, 
When  they  light  the  forest,  slightly  dim. 

He  renders  man  bright  and  beautiful, 
As  ancient  wine  sparkles  anew — 

If  he  accepts  work  as  dutiful, 

And  seasons  it  with  willingness,  too. 

Then  renew  the  old,  olden  story 
That  necessity  is  a  blessing; — 

The  hoary  head  a  crown  of  glory, 
And  luxury  ofttimes  distressing. 

Fine  flowers  grow  in  remote  places, 

And  furnish  there  an  air  of  sweetness, 

Where  nature,  in  those  perfect  graces, 
Bestows  in  silence  her  completeness. 

Then  glorify  your  work  with  pleasure, 

And  combat  compulsion  with  a  smile, 

Upon  the  happy  wayside  treasure 

You  will  secure  in  each  passing  mile. 

When  we  are  put  to  the  test  of  it, 
In  various  ways  of  deep  dismay, 

We  plan  how  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
And  bear  its  precious  prize  away. 

Let  us  make  our  narrow  boundaries 

A  beautiful  garden  of  Eden, 
As  strong  irons  from  the  foundries 

Make  the  beautiful  homes  of  Sweden. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  89 

Compulsion  glows  with  divine  meaning, 

And  glory  appears  along  the  way, 
When  constant  beauty  of  its  gleaming 

Surrounds  our  lives  like  radiant  day. 

Cheerful  willingness  lightens  the  load, 
When  in  the  wilderness  we  are  lost, 

And  mitigates  the  long,  lonesome  road 
That  besets  our  way  at  heavy  cost. 

The  spirit  is  greater  than  the  deeds, 

And  blasts  the  way  to  final  reward, 

As  flowers  produc'd  by  planting  seeds, 

Demonstrate  the  beauty  of  our  Lord. 

Our  tasks,  like  the  mellow  dawn  of  day, 

When  the  morning  lights  of  summer  fall 

In  their  glorious,  radiant  way, 

Are  lessened  by  His  kindly  call. 

With  a  willingness  that  cheers  the  soul 
'Gainst  the  hardships  of  daily  labor, 

And  buoys  us  on  to  the  happy  goal 

That  wins  the  friendship  of  our  neighbor. 

What  matters  then  which  way  the  winds  blow 
If  by  willingness  we  pave  the  way, 

As  placid  rivers  serenely  flow 

Through  heavenly  hills  from  day  to  day  ? 


February,  1920 


90  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


NAUTICAL  NIGHT 

Far,  far  away  o'er  the  dismal  sea, 
The  restless  waves  are  calling  to  me, 
But  what  they  declare  I  cannot  tell 
Unless  it  be  their  tempestuous  spell. 

Unto  the  clouds  above  them  blending, 
A  constant  chatter  they  are  sending, 
Until  at  last,  they  fail  to  quiet, 
The  turmoil  of  a  regular  riot. 

The  sun  now  lowering  in  the  skies, 
Leaves  a  trace  in  which  the  moon  will  rise, 
And  soon  the  stars  will  brighter  be 
For  having  shone  on  the  glossy  sea. 

Then  bursts  the  moon  in  all  her  splendor 
Upon  the  scene  in  which  to  render 
The  glory  of  night,  over  the  seas, 
When  tempered  with  the  spicy  breeze. 

Majestic  meeting  of  stars  and  sea 
Upon  the  plane  of  tranquillity, 
With  the  beauty  of  the  moon  so  bright 
To  crown  the  glory  of  perfect  night. 

Deeper  the  solitude  now  goes  on, 
Ere  the  morning  hours  begin  to  dawn; 
Then  as  the  stars  slowly  fade  away, 
Enters  the  light  of  another  day. 

September,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  91 

A  LITTLE  FADED  ROSE 

Deftly  lies  a  little  faded  rose 

Within  the  Bible's  secure  embrace, 

Where  age  and  decay  it  sadly  shows 
As  time  its  beauty  tends  to  efface. 

Emerald  leaves  clasped  'round  its  edge, 
Denote  they  perished  in  that  hour, 

WThile  clinging  fast  as  a  faithful  pledge, 
Unto  the  slowly  fading  flower. 

How  long  has  laid  this  withered  rose 

Within  these  silent  and  sacred  leaves  ? 

I  venture  to  say  that  no  one  knows, 

As  the  thought  perchance  some  heart  it  grieves. 

Distant  the  hand  that  placed  it  there, 
Distant  the  garden  in  which  it  grew, 

Yet  remaining  signs  of  tender  care 

That  gave  it  the  sweetness  of  morning  dew. 

Symbolic  of  the  short  lives  we  live, 

This  faded  rose  portrays  our  story, 

When  all  we  have  we  would  gladly  give 
To  restore  that  lost  and  latent  glory. 

At  last,  like  the  little  faded  rose 

Whose  brilliance  and  beauty  is  gone, 

We  realize  as  age  on  us  grows, 

We  are  less  fondly  looked  upon. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  the  faded  rose, 

Likewise  the  lesson  of  all  mankind, 

As  onward,  onward,  time  swiftly  flows 

And  leaves  naught  but  shadows  on  our  mind. 

January,  1921 


92  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

SEPARATION  OF  THE  WATERS 

(Arch  erected  by  Canadian   Pacific   Railway  where  it  crosses  the  great  Continental 
Divide  in  British  Columbia) 

Lucid  waters  from  the  mountain  side 

Flow  under  this  arch  with  merry  force, 

Marking  the  Continental  Divide 

Before  taking  their  opposite  course. 

"United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall," 

Does  not  apply  to  this  parting  stream, 

As  it  descends  Hesperian  wall, 

And  descends  arid  lands  to  redeem. 

Beneath  this  arch,  man  can  stand  astride 

Of  the  waters  from  the  mountain's  breast, 

Before  they,  with  reluctance  divide, — 

Some  flowing  east  and  some  flowing  west. 

Like  two  bright  boys  in  life  starting  out, 
This  rivulet  parts,  no  more  to  meet, — 

Each  taking  a  far  different  route 

As  they  render  their  journey  complete. 

Gathering  volume  with  ev'ry  mile, 

Through  gulch  and  gorge,  it  rages  frantic; 

Leaving  here  and  there  a  farewell  smile, 
On  its  way  to  the  far  Atlantic. 

The  current  toward  the  Pacific, 

Is  now  rapidly  forging  its  way 
With  fall  and  force  ultra-terrific, 

As  it  increases  from  day  to  day. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  93 

Dashing  down  abrupt,  narrow  gorges 
With  the  fury  of  a  madden'd  beast, 

This  river  its  western  way  forges, 

While  the  other  traverses  the  east. 

Passing  wild  regions  of  the  glazier 

Through  rocks  and  cliffs  and  evergreen  trees, 
It  contributes  to  the  great  Fraser 

That  leads  away  to  the  distant  seas. 

Then  utterly  lost  in  the  ocean, 

With  its  fathomless  depths  of  the  deep, 
Far,  far  away  in  that  mild  motion, 

It  is  quietly  rocked  to  sleep. 

But  its  companion  has  found  its  way 
Through  a  land  of  different  legions, 

Where,  with  six  months  night  and  six  months  day, 
It  lowly  lies  in  Arctic  regions. 

And  if  at  last,  this,  levantine  stream 

Reaches  the  old  Atlantic  Ocean 
How,  liken'd  unto  a  mystic  dream, 

Is  that  dream  to  a  truthful  notion  ? 

Then  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 

Have  each  a  share  of  these  waters  sweet 
Within  their  bosom,  so  prolific; — 

Separated,  never  more  to  meet. 


.Ipril.  1920 


94  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


VISTA  OF  THE  VALLEY 

(From  the  window  of  an  eight-story  building) 
(Dedicated  to  R.  G.  L.) 

Beautiful  fields  I  behold  today 

That  lie  beyond  the  city's  border, 
And  extend  away,  far,  far  away, 

In  their  grand  and  glorious  order. 

Thousands  of  trees  blend  into  the  scene 
That  with  the  grass  softly  harmonize; 

Portraying  the  tints  of  richest  green 
Against  the  blue  and  billowy  skies. 

Cattle  are  grazing  in  distant  spots, 

Upon  the  grass  that  around  them  grows, 

While  horses  are  seen  in  smaller  lots, 
Along  the  river  that  slowly  flows. 

Vast,  oh,  vast  is  this  enchanting  view 

That  leads  away  to  the  far  northwest, — 

Where  the  landscape  stretches  through  and  through 
And  nature  dwells  in  realms  of  her  best. 

The  sun  emits  a  radiant  smile, 

With  all  the  glory  of  its  power, 
As  if  the  valley  it  would  beguile, 

In  this  serene  and  sumptuous  hour. 

A  slight  sheen  over  the  vista  creeps, 
As  sunlight  pierces  the  filmy  skies, 

And  a  dimness  on  the  distance  sleeps, 
As  the  day  prepares  for  its  demise. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  95 

Then  from  these  hills  and  emerald  plains 

And  limitless  lands,  I  ne'er  would  part; — 

But  quiet  my  thoughts  in  soothing  strains 

That  here  blooms  the  flower  of  my  heart. 

Oh,  could  I  prolong  this  charming  sight 

That  thrills  my  soul  with  rapturous  tune; — 

But,  alas!    like  the  coming  of  night, 

It  ends  with  the  beautiful  days  of  June. 


//.,  June  4,  1920 


96  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


THINKING  OF  THEE 

I  am  thinking  and  thinking  of  thee, 

As  we  travel  through  fields  and  flowers, 

And  wonder,  too,  if  you  think  of  me, 

In  silence  of  past  and  present  hours. 

The  trying  ordeal  we're  passing  now — 
Only  a  touch  of  what's  to  ensue — 

Starts  me  to  wondering  how,  oh,  how, 
I  ever  can  live,  live  without  you  ? 

'Tis  truly  sad  that  life's  sweetest  spice 
Is  sometimes  lent  its  severest  jar, 

By  suff'ring  sorely  that  sacrifice 

We  feel  when  "so  near  and  yet  so  far." 

But  seeds  now  planted  within  our  lives 
May  latent  lie  for  some  wise  reason, 

If  only  the  test  our  love  survives 

Until  there  comes  a  proper  season. 

Oh,  then  will  you  wait,  if  not  too  long, 
For  the  clouds  o'er  us  to  pass  away, 

And  let  us  join  in  a  hopeful  song 

That  our  joys  will  come,  both  night  and  day  ? 

Genoa— Milan,  Agoslo  25,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  97 


SOUND  OF  THE  HORSE'S  HOOF 

The  old  time  patter  of  horse's  hoof 

Pervades  the  silence  of  evening  air, 

Recalling  to  us  with  ample  proof 

Those  long  ago  sounds  are  getting  rare. 

The  auto,  with  its  moving  masses, 

Rushes  along  on  high  geared  speed; 

Waving  to  those  it  quickly  passes, 

As  they  swiftly  take  their  joyous  lead. 

But  faithful  old  Dobbin  trots  along 
Over  macadam  and  mushy  mire; 

Filling  the  air  with  triumphant  song, 

While  the  auto,  perchance,  bursts  a  tire. 

Fainter  and  fainter  the  sound  we  heard, 
In  the  subdued  stillness  of  night, 

Vanishes  like  the  song  of  a  bird, 

After  the  bird  has  taken  its  flight. 

How  true  it  is  we  openly  know, 

There  is  no  shelter  without  a  roof, 

And  with  passing  time,  all  customs  go; — 

Likewise,  the  "Sound  of  the  Horse's  Hoof.' 

Albuquerque,  New  Mexico,  May,  1920 


98  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


WHEN  THE  BRIDGE  BREAKS  DOWN 

When  the  bridge  breaks  down  that  bears  me  o'er 
The  strain  of  silence  'tween  you  and  I, 

There  is  nothing  left  for  me,  therefore, 
But  acceptance  with  a  solemn  sigh. 

In  thinking  of  the  past  and  present; 

We  are  prone  to  cherish  days  gone  by, 
And  dwell  upon  the  things  most  pleasant 

That  beautified  our  terrestrial  sky. 

Then  when  the  golden  cord  is  broken, 
We  feel  the  sting  of  remorseful  pain 

And  would  recall  the  words  once  spoken, 
If  our  lives  they  could  unite  again. 

Longing  for  one  who  never  appears, 

Deludes  the  heart  and  saddens  the  soul, 

Throughout  the  months  and  throughout  the  years, 
That  allure  us  on  without  the  goal. 

But  hope  clings  unto  the  human  heart, 

When  all  but  hope  and  prayer  has  gone, 

While  courage  again  it  will  impart, 

With  another  day's  approaching  dawn. 

Oh,  where  are  those  rays  of  sunlight  now 
That  lit  the  lucid  skies  o'er  my  head  ? 

They  cease  to  descend  upon  my  brow, 
And  all  their  glory  for  me  is  dead! 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  99 

The  bridge  that  spans  this  lurid  abyss 

Is  breaking  under  the  strain  of  years; — 

Where  once  it  held  the  cables  of  bliss, 
It  now  is  parting  from  its  piers. 

The  tide  of  travel  is  hard  to  turn 

After  once  its  paths  are  firmly  made, 

And  reflective  thoughts  within  us  burn 
As  sunshine  is  obscured  by  shade. 

Yet  the  current  of  hope  onward  goes 

As  he  who  grasps  the  coveted  crown, 

Like  a  river  that  serenely  flows 

Regardless  of  "When  the  Bridge  Breaks  Down." 


October  30,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


WILL  IT  BE? 

Will  the  Father  with  divine  power 

Restore  us  as  the  acorn  now  dead, 

Is  restored,  in  that  redeeming  hour, 

Like  the  oak  when  its  leaves  have  been  shed  ? 

If  the  acorn  bursts  its  prison  walls, 

And  produces  another  oak  tree, 
Can  we  not  think  the  Master  that  calls 

Will  from  the  grave  our  tenement  free  ? 

Will  he  leave  forlorn  the  soul  of  man, 

Made  in  image  of  immortal  love, 
And  cast  doubt  upon  his  profound  plan 

To  unite  us  with  heaven  above  ? 

If  he  stoops  to  revive  the  rosebud, 

Whose  wither'd  blossoms  float  on  the  breeze. 
Will  he  not  wash  with  his  precious  blood, 

And  restore  us  as  he  wisely  sees  ? 

When  summer  ends  and  autumn  frosts  fall, 
Does  he  not  give  the  sweet  assurance 

Of  another  springtime  that  will  call 
Upon  the  spirit  in  endurance? 

Will  he  withhold  the  promise  of  hope 

From  the  souls  of  men  that  crucial  time, 

When  in  the  mist  of  darkness  they  grope 
Before  restor'd  by  his  help  sublime? 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  101 

If  matter  mute,  is  changed  by  the  force 

Of  nature  into  various  forms 
That  never  die,  will  he  in  like  course, 

Not  change  us  from  the  state  of  death's  storms  ? 

Will  the  spirit  of  man  suffer  exile, 

After  dwelling  in  its  house  of  clay, 
Like  a  royal  guest  for  a  short  while, 

Then  vanish  forever  away  ? 

If  he  gives  fragrance  to  the  flowers, 

And  those  exquisite  songs  to  the  birds, 

Will  he  not  give  to  this  soul  of  ours 

All  that  is  meant  by  his  sacred  words  ? 


March,  1921 


102  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


GO,  THOU  THOUGHT  OF  MINE 

Go  thou,  my  restless,  wandering  thought, 

To  far-off  isles  in  tropical  seas, 
Where  perfume  of  flowers,  nightly  caught, 

Lay  on  the  breath  of  the  mellow  breeze. 

Go  to  the  Andes'  stupendous  heights 

That  rear  their  snowy  peaks  to  the  skies; 

Where  the  condor  makes  his  daily  flights, 
And  the  sunlight  on  them  softly  lies. 

Go  thou  to  the  mountains  of  the  Moon, 
Then  farther  still  to  Victoria  Falls; 

Where  at  the  hour  of  morning  and  noon, 
The  Zambesi  to  the  echo  calls. 

Go  thou  to  India's  most  southern  shore, 
Where  natives  live  in  primitive  style; 

Then  to  the  gardens  of  Singapore, 

Where  fragrant  flowers  bloom  all  the  while. 

Go  thou,  my  thought,  to  the  Alps'  high  peaks, 
Where  downward  dash  roaring  waterfalls, 

For  'tis  their  beauty  my  spirit  seeks, 

And  to  their  mem'ry  my  spirit  calls. 

Go  thou,  oh,  my  thought  of  restlessness, 
To  Arabia's  bleak  and  barren  lands, 

Where  sunshine  falls  with  that  torrid  stress 
Upon  the  glistening,  scorching  sands. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  103 

Go  thou  to  Scotland's  sweet  Loch  Lomond, 
Where  pink  heather  grows  upon  the  hills, 

And  forms  that  picture  we  are  so  fond 
As  the  heart  with  joy  it  then  instills. 

Go  thou  to  Greenland's  cold,  icy  shore, 
Where  the  Esquimo  is  cloth'd  in  furs, 

And  lives  in  exile  forever  more, 

While  the  drifting  snow  his  vision  blurs. 

Go  thou,  oh,  my  restless,  roaming  thought, 
To  that  magic  isle  away  northwest, 

Where  days  and  nights  with  romance  are  fraught 
By  the  presence  of  one  I  love  best. 

Go,  oh,  my  pensive  thought,  where  thou  will, — 
From  Alaska's  wild,  romantic  land 

To  India's  far-away  Tiger  Hill, — 

And  behold  the  sunrise,  ultra-grand. 

Go,  thou  anxious  thought,  this  wide  world  o'er, 
In  search  of  pleasures  thou  would  secure, 

But  learn,  alas!   they  will  come  no  more, 
Without  the  pain  man  has  to  endure. 


October    1921 


104  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


OVER  THE  RHINE 

Oh!  Geraldine,  to  my  mind  divine, 

When  free  from  trouble  and  free  from  care, 

She  blithely  walked  over  the  Rhine, 
And  left  her  image  upon  me  there. 

The  broad  white  band  on  her  glossy  hat, 
Proclaimed  unto  a  look  of  youth, 

Those  juvenile  charms  there  is  in  that 
We  so  admire  in  beauty  and  truth. 

Her  step  was  quick  and  her  pose  erect, 

As  across  the  bridge  she  lightly  tread; — 

Gone, — gone  to  be  sure, —  I  might  expect, 
As  over  the  Rhine  she  quickly  sped. 

Away,  away,  and  from  me  parteth, 

As  hair  from  a  maid's  bright  eyes  blown  back 
And,  lo,  a  pain  in  my  heart  darteth, 

As  I  watch'd  her  take  that  wayward  track. 

Her  face  and  form  now  faded  away 

Like  floating  clouds  in  the  summer  sky; 

Yet  there  was  something  seemed  to  say, 

"She'll  come  back  in  the  sweet  bye  and  bye." 

When  time  is  passing  only  too  fast, 

There  comes  a  mystic,  enchanting  spell, 

And  the  things  around  us  seem  to  cast 
A  weirdness  we  feel,  but  cannot  tell. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  105 

I  watched  her  there  in  vacant  stare, 

As  others  were  coming  to  and  fro; 
But  I  neither  knew  nor  did  not  care 

From  whence  they  came  or  where  they  would  go 

Onward,  onward,  flows  the  roguish  Rhine, 

Beneath  the  bridge  on  which  I'm  standing, — 

Thinking  only  of  sweet  Geraldine, 

Where  she  perhaps  will  soon  be  landing. 

The  sun  now  sinking  low  in  the  West, 

Casts  her  shadow  upon  the  river, 
While  little  canoes,  under  the  test, 

Strain  their  oars  with  a  nervous  quiver. 

Then  above  the  water's  rippling  sound, 
There  appears  the  form  of  Geraldine, 

As  her  face  is  turned  homeward  bound, 
Crossing  again  the  beautiful  Rhine. 


106  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

TRIBUTE  TO  A  TREE 

(Words  of  one  and  two  syllables) 

There  stands  an  old  tough  and  time-worn  tree, 
That  affords  shelter. for  bird  and  bee, 
Against  the  flurry  of  rain  and  snow, 
As  the  seasons  swiftly  come  and  go. 

Sheep  and  cattle  lie  under  its  shade, 
As  teams  are  seen  toiling  up  the  grade, 
And  men  view  it  as  a  resting  place 
Before  they  complete  their  toilsome  race. 

Other  trees,  like  men,  have  pass'd  away, 
But  this  tough  old  tree  has  come  to  stay, 
And  while  its  branches  are  somewhat  shorn, 
It  endures  the  test  of  sleet  and  storm. 

Its  daily  shade  circles  half  around 
The  slanting  sides  of  the  rolling  ground, 
And  extends  its  shadows  far  away, 
With  the  setting  sun  at  close  of  day. 

A  hungry  coyote  may  call  this  way, 
Casting  about  for  his  evening  prey, 
But  the  sheep  are  gone  to  their  corral, 
While  the  tree  holds  forth  in  silent  spell. 

The  coyote  now  has  lost  his  calling, 
With  light  of  stars  about  him  falling, 
And  looking  round  in  dismal  defeat, 
He  thinks  it  wise  himself  to  retreat. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  107 

When  all  is  quiet  in  dead  of  night, 
This  tough  old  tree  takes  solemn  delight 
In  standing  there,  monarch  of  the  fields, 
While  good  men  sleep  and  the  bad  man  steals. 

Beneath  its  shade,  where  the  children  play, 
Flowers  have  bloomed  and  pass'd  away, 
Since  first  I  saw  this  hoary  old  tree 
In  the  early  days  of  eighty-three. 

A  fond  refuge  from  the  sun's  warm  rays, 
During  childhood's  happy,  playful  days, 
And  a  shelter  still  for  those  who  see 
The  constant  charms  of  this  dear  old  tree. 

Oh,  could  we  retain,  like  this  old  tree, 
Our  youthful  vigor,  how  sweet  'twould  be; 
And  perish  not  with  the  fleeting  years 
That  bring  us  naught  but  sorrow  and  tears 


Septembtr,  1920 


108  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


RETROSPECT 

Late  autumn  leaves  turning  brown  and  sear, 

Recall  to  mem'ry  one  far  away, 
Although  in  spirit,  I  feel  she's  near, 

Through  the  hours  of  night  and  hours  of  day. 

From  the  depths  of  thought,  there  comes  again 
Her  fond  image  that  around  me  dwells, 

Like  scent  of  roses,  that  still  remain 
To  enthrall  me  in  reflective  spells. 

We  sometimes  feel  the  presence  of  friends, 
When  they  are  not  within  our  calling, 

Just  as  the  sunshine  serenely  sends 
A  glow  of  light  before  its  falling. 

We  often  feel  the  spirit  of  those 

Who  have  long  since  left  this  earthly  sphere, 
Are  with  us  yet,  as  the  feeling  grows 

That  they  to  us  are  still  very  near. 

Leaves  that  are  dead  and  drifting  away, 
After  serving  their  summer  season, 

Have  pass'd  into  a  state  of  decay 

For  some  profound  and  unknown  reason. 

So  with  our  friends  that  are  here  awhile 
Then  drift  on  with  the  tide  of  events, 

And  deprive  us  of  that  welcome  smile 

Their  distance  and  absence  now  prevents. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  109 

Oh,  how  I  long  for  those  hours  once  more, 

When  gardens  were  green  and  landscapes  bright, 

As  they  charm'd  the  vales  along  the  shore 
And  fill'd  my  heart  with  silent  delight. 

The  billows  roll  on  and  on  and  on, 

The  nightly  stars  appear  as  before; 

But  the  charms  of  life  from  me  are  gone, 
Since  her  fond  face  I  behold  no  more. 


SADNESS  OF  SENILITY 

Oh!  have  my  former  friends  forgotten  me 
With  the  coming  of  adversity, 
And  left  me  in  the  sorrowful  tears 
That  come  to  men  in  declining  years  ? 

When  we  have  no  more  the  charms  of  youth, 
There  dawns  on  us  an  establish'd  truth 
That  we  are  then  somewhat  mismated 
And  soon  become  superannuated. 

The  young  today  are  so  engrossed 
With  fads  and  fashions  at  any  cost, 
That  he  who  is  becoming  quite  old, 
Feels  the  world  to  him  is  growing  cold. 

Then,  as  roses  with  radiance  gone, 

He  has  but  little  to  look  upon, 

When  the  evening  shades  around  him  fall 

And  bring  with  them  their  darkening  pall. 


110  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


WHERE  THE  SUN  NEVER  SETS 

There  is  a  place  the  sun  never  sets, 
In  the  relative  sense  of  my  mind; 

Nor  is  there  trace  of  any  regrets 

For  having  known  a  place  of  this  kind. 

A  perfect  pearl  in  the  pleasant  past, 

Surrounded  by  hues  of  richest  gold; 

As  the  sunbeams  their  effulgence  cast, 
Upon  the  memories  they  unfold. 

The  oasis  of  this  far-off  land 

That  remains  ever  fresh  in  my  mind, 
Is  beautiful,  glorious  and  grand 

As  a  lover  of  nature  can  find. 

As  the  placid  river  onward  flows 

Through  those  picturesque  vales  to  the  sea, 
So  do  I  find,  as  time  swiftly  goes, 

These  are  the  places  most  dear  to  me. 

Lovely  landscapes  of  the  British  Isles, 

Where  sheep  and  cattle  upon  them  graze, 

As  the  summer  sunshine  on  them  smiles, 

And  the  balmy  breeze  around  them  plays. 

Could  there  be  a  more  beautiful  spot 
Than  in  this  land  of  historic  scenes, 

Where  one  I  met  will  forget  me  not, 

And  abide  with  me  in  future  dreams  ? 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  111 

It  is  there  that  the  sun  never  sets 

Upon  the  embryo  of  happy  hours, 
Where  the  impression  next  to  me  gets 

As  morning  dewdrops  are  to  flowers. 

Oh!  then  may  the  sun  forever  shine 

Upon  this  beautiful  land  of  dreams, 

As  my  heart  for  it  is  prone  to  pine, 

And  its  fond  memory  on  me  gleams. 


October,  1921 


112  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


VISIONS  OF  VERDUN 

Lurid  are  the  visions  of  Verdun, 

As  they  appear  before  me  today, 

Where  frightful  battles  were  lost  and  won, 
And  left  their  sad  impress  there  to  stay. 

The  morning  sun  lights  up  the  fields, 

Where  the  sluggish  rivers  slowly  run; 

And  trace  of  tragedy  still  reveals 
The  horrible  battles  of  Verdun. 

Buildings  and  bridges  of  ancient  form 

Are  filled  with  holes  and  crumbling  down, 

Like  fragments  of  trees  after  a  storm, 

When  alien  elements  on  them  frown. 

Walls  of  granite,  badly  shattered 

By  heavy  missiles  of  shot  and  shell; 

And  people  left,  are  sadly  scatter'd, 

As  their  subverted  homes  plainly  tell. 

Hillsides,  defaced  by  dungeons,  dire, 

And  shell  holes  over  the  ground  are  thick; 

Between  the  windrows  of  rusty  wire 

That  render  the  heart  severely  sick. 

In  the  dismal  darkness  of  this  fort 
Officers  and  men  were  concealed, 

With  food  and  water  extremely  short 
As  subsequent  events  revealed. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  113 

At  last,  fifteen  men,  driven  by  thirst, 

Their  tortures  no  longer  could  survive, 

Facing  death,  in  a  desperate  burst, 
But  only  three  returned  alive. 

Oh,  that  vast  and  beautiful  landscape, 

Where  the  Germans  stubbornly  massed; — 

What  a  frightful  crime  this  land  to  rape 
And  on  it  death  and  destruction  cast! 

But  war  regards  no  laws  of  pity, 

And  this  wondrous  valley  was  not  spar'd, 
No  more  than  was  the  nearby  city, 

In  the  awful  loss  it  has  shared. 

Oh!  that  valley,  beautiful  valley, 

Devastated  by  horrors  of  war; — 
Can  struggling  man  cause  it  to  rally 

In  richness  of  beauty  as  before  ? 

Tall  painted  crosses  denote  the  graves 

Where  thousands  are  lying  side  by  side, 

And  tell  the  story  of  those  poor  slaves, 

As  for  their  country  they  bravely  died. 

Oh,  tell  me  why  all  this  carnal  feast 

Was  brought  upon  helpless  men  to  bear; 

And  why  do  those  wise  men  in  the  East, 
Such  terrible  tragedies  prepare? 

Looking  over  the  rolling  plateau, 

Now  frightfully  marred  and  forlorn, 

I  behold  that  vengeance  war  will  do, 

As  homes  are  wrecked  and  hearts  are  torn. 


114  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

O'er  desolate  "No  Man's  Land"  I  look, 

Where  the  darkest  days  and  nights  were  spent, 

As  the  trembling  earth  from  cannon  shook, 
And  heavens  above  in  twain  were  rent. 

Argonne  Forest  waves  her  weeping  trees 
To  mournful  winds  that  over  it  play, 

In  mem'ry  of  men  from  o'er  the  seas, 
That  beneath  its  shade  forever  lay. 

With  strength  and  valor  that  man  displays 
In  bitter  battles  here  lost  and  won, 

The  strongest  that  human  thought  conveys, 
Is  this  baleful  vision  of  Verdun. 

August,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  115 


FADING  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful  flowers 

That  animate  the  gardens  in  May; 

Must  you,  with  the  swiftly  passing  hours, 
Forego  that  beauty  and  fade  away? 

Too  sweet  has  been  the  spell  of  delight 

In  which  you  follow'd  the  winter's  chill 

To  take  so  soon  your  lamented  flight 

And  leave  no  others  your  place  to  fill. 

For  weeks  and  months  they  laden  the  breeze 
With  a  fragrance  that  charms  our  senses; 

While  from  their  petals  they  feed  the  bees 
Nectar  from  which  honey  condenses. 

Vivid  have  been  their  colors  of  June, 

As  Southern  winds  blew  them  to  and  fro, 

Bearing  away  their  sweetest  perfume 

O'er  hills  and  vales  to  mountains  of  snow. 

Oh!    could  I  waft  a  message  of  love 

On  the  breath  of  these  flexible  stems, 

As  to  the  fantastic  clouds  above 

They  wave  their  beautiful  diadems. 

But  naught  can  stay  their  vigorous  bloom 
As  effects  of  time  will  surely  tell, 

When  the  autumn  days  pronounce  their  doom 
And  resound  again  their  solemn  knell. 


116  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

The  violets,  already  drooping, 

Are  first  to  show  the  passing  season; — 
Like  man  with  age,  who,  lowly  stooping, 

Pauses  again  to  catch  his  reason. 

Then,  finally,  faded  and  forlorn, 

They  pass  into  a  state  of  decay; — 

Of  their  main  beauty  they  have  been  shorn 
And  enter  a  sad  stage  of  dismay. 

But  they  will  return  with  coming  spring 
And  blossom  supremely  as  before; 

While  man,  alas,  no  seasons  will  bring 
That  vigor  gone,  to  return  no  more. 

April,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  117 


ABSENT 

From  afar  my  spirit  is  calling 

To  one  whose  features  I  long  to  see; 

While  she,  perchance,  like  dead  leaves  falling, 
Is  drifting,  drifting,  farther  from  me. 

With  the  tidal  winds  and  roaring  waves 
That  caress  the  shores  of  Amsterdam, 

My  mind  reverts,  and  my  heart  now  craves, 
For  the  one  who  knows  not  where  I  am. 

If,  in  knowing  this,  she  could  possess 

The  depth  of  thought  it  brings  to  me  now, 

I'd  better  forbear  the  loneliness 

That  hovers  around  my  anxious  brow. 

From  over  land  nor  over  the  sea 

As  the  days  and  nights  pass  quickly  by, 
No  word  of  love  ever  comes  to  me, 

As  my  fondest  hopes  begin  to  die. 

Absence  prolonged  sickens  the  heart, 

And  deprives  it  of  that  state  of  bliss 

Unto  each  other  we  would  impart, 

Instead  of  forbearing  things  amiss. 

Day  by  day,  she  is  weaned  away, 

From  the  sacred  covenant  we  had, 

Until  at  last,  I  regret  to  say, 

My  spirit  is  dejected  and  sad. 


118  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Lives,  crowned  with  garlands  of  flowers, 
See  not  the  shadow  that  lies  beyond 

The  horizon  of  those  golden  hours, 

In  which  they  were  so  supremely  fond. 

Then  dark  and  ominous  clouds  arise, 

Where  radiant  were  the  skies  above, 

While  time  and  absence  our  patience  tries 
And  tests  the  strength  of  a  sacred  love. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  119 


WHEN  THE  LAWNS  ARE  COVERED  WITH 
LEAVES 

When  the  lawns  are  covered  with  leaves 
Drifting  and  shifting  upon  the  ground, 

In  retrospect,  my  spirit  perceives — 

The  Autumnal  wind's  familiar  sound. 

Summer,  with  plethoric  foliage, 

Has  bid  adieu  to  the  fleeting  show, 

While  Autumn  enters  upon  the  stage 

With  her  crimson  leaves  and  touch  of  snow. 

The  atmosphere  is  crisp  with  ozone, 
The  skies  are  tinted  in  azure  blue, 

And  the  leaves  have  taken  on  that  tone 
We  feel  when  the  end  of  life  is  due. 

Bending  grass  blades  now  glisten  with  frost, 

As  the  spicy  breeze  plays  through  the  trees, 

And  flowers,  with  their  brilliance  lost, 

Can  no  more  nourish  the  honey  bees. 

Leaves,  once  green,  have  fallen  to  the  ground 

And  changed  into  a  semi-red, 
While  the  autumn  winds,  with  mournful  sound, 

Denote  with  sadness  that  they  are  dead. 

And  thus  it  is,  for  God's  wise  reasons; 

The  leaves  are  changed  after  awhile, 
And  fade  away  with  passing  seasons, 

But  come  again  with  a  springtime  smile. 


120  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Sweet  summer  leaves  and  late  autumn  leaves — 
How  they  depict  our  laconic  lives — 

Flourishing  first,  then  our  heart  deceives, 
When  hope  within  us  no  longer  thrives. 

Like  unto  the  beautiful  flowers, 

Life  is  buoyant  in  early  stages, 
But  soon  declines  with  the  passing  hours, 

And  leaves  us  sad  in  our  old  ages. 

Like  unto  a  beautiful  maiden, 

New  leaves  adorn  the  tree  with  splendor, 
As  her  bosom,  with  jewels  laden, 

Prepares  her  debut  best  to  render. 

Then  in  this  glorious  youthful  stage, 
The  golden  days  of  life  are  passed, 

Before  she  enters  upon  the  age 

That  clouds  and  shadows  her  path  at  last. 

Like  the  desolate  trees,  void  of  leaves 

When  winter  winds  have  stripped  them  bare, 

Man  deserted,  to  his  master  cleaves, 
And  clings  unto  the  Creator's  care. 

When  whisp'ring  winds  are  faintly  heard, 
My  pensive  heart  with  emotion  grieves, 

And  I  am  sad  and  deeply  stirred, 

"When  the  lawns  are  covered  with  leaves." 

October,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


CEYLON 

Ceylon,  Ceylon,  beautiful  Ceylon; 

As  a  child  of  India  far  away, 
I  think  of  thee,  and  days  that  are  gone, 

While  yet  thy  memories  with  me  stay. 

Where  palm  trees  wave  with  the  western  breeze 
That  comes  from  o'er  the  Indian  Ocean, 

And  vibrate  the  tall  palmetto  trees 
With  subdued  and  silent  motion. 

Set  like  a  pearl  in  translucent  shell, 

Far  from  where  flows  the  River  Avon, 

Cocoanut  trees,  in  that  dreamy  spell 
Pervade  the  lovely  land  of  Ceylon. 

Against  the  shore  the  blue  billows  roll, 

And  spend  their  force  in  foamy  white  spray, 

That  enchants  the  scene  and  charms  the  soul, 
As  the  golden  sunbeams  on  them  play. 

Withal,  the  rolling,  restless  ocean, 

That  extends  from  this  enchanted  isle, 

With  its  forever  ceaseless  motion, 

And  murmuring  music  all  the  while. 

Ferns  and  flowers  and  spicewood  growing 
Beneath  the  shade  of  tropical  vines, 

Where  all  the  stars  within  our  knowing 
Upon  this  island  serenely  shines. 


122  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

From  Colombo's  stately  lighthouse  tower, 

There  flashes  signals  both  night  and  day, 

To  guide  the  vessels  every  hour, 

That  in  their  course,  have  called  this  way. 

Ferns  in  the  forests,  gems  in  the  mines; 

Ceylon  is  the  land  of  far-off  dreams; 
With  romance  there  as  the  heart  inclines, 

To  explore  its  woods  and  winding  streams. 

Rubies,  brighter  than  the  stars  portray, 
Sapphires  blue  as  the.  ocean  beyond, 

And  cat's-eyes  with  that  beguiling  ray 

To  which  temptations  quickly  respond. 

Colpetty,  from  town  a  mile  or  more, 

There  leads  a  broad,  busy  thoroughfare, 

Where  the  grass  is  green  along  the  shore, 

And  we  watch  the  waves  while  resting  there. 

Sublime  the  view  t'ward  the  golden  sun, 
Sinking  beyond  the  glistening  seas, 

As  the  dying  day  is  nearly  done, 

And  the  rising  moon  creeps  o'er  the  trees. 

At  last,  adieu  to  the  skies  so  blue, 

And  ocean's  constant  murmuring  song, — 

And  the  sparkling  stones  so  rich  in  hue, 
Unto  all,  I  say  so  long,  so  long. 

Colombo,  October,  1913 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  123 


WEAVING  THE  WEB  OF  LIFE 

Little  by  little,  life  is  woven 

Upon  the  fleeting  current  of  time, — 
Composed  of  what  we  have  chosen 

From  the  bells  that  ring  with  constant  chime. 

Childhood's  season  of  seed-time  sowing, 
Is  buoyant,  with  hopes  of  life  beyond, 

As  the  golden  sun,  in  its  glowing, 

Opens  the  way  where  the  heart  is  fond. 

Then  comes  the  age  of  work  and  struggle, 

That  on  us  now  begins  to  settle, 
When  years  of  worry  and  of  trouble, 

Tests  the  endurance  of  our  mettle. 

And  weaving  now  the  figures  that  last 

Within  the  web  of  eternal  joy, 
We  look  to  time  that  is  passing  fast, 

To  keep  us  from  the  sting  of  annoy. 

As  down  the  throngs  of  a  busy  street, 

Mingled  with  the  sound  of  cobblestones, 

We  may,  perchance,  some  poor  pauper  meet 
That  time  has  racked  his  aching  bones. 

In  the  crowded  streets  of  Amsterdam, 

Where  old  and  young,  rushing  to  and  fro, 

With  ev'rything — cart  to  caravan — 
Comprises  this  promiscuous  show. 


124  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Over  the  low  lands  of  Holland  fair, 

Where  sheep  and  cattle  fulfill  their  place, 

Young  men  and  women  are  working  there, 
With  eager  aptness  of  their  race. 

Upon  the  smooth  and  sandy  seashore,* 

Thousands  are  breathing  the  balmy  breeze, 

While  thousands  are  coming,  more  and  more, 
To  watch  the  waves  of  the  rolling  seas. 

The  trying  ordeal  of  life  prevails 

When  bidding  goodby  to  friends  so  true, 

As  our  ship  of  fate  now  outward  sails 
And  we  wave  a  last,  final  adieu. 

Then  let  us  weave  the  web  of  our  life 

In  peaceful  justice,  caution  and  care, 

As  numerous  troubles  and  its  strife, 

Try  our  strength  of  endurance  to  bear. 


* Refers  to  Schevcningcn,  famous  suburb  of  The  Hague;  Holland's  most  beautiful 
beach  and  popular  seaside  resort. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  125 


THE  TRAIL  WE  TRAVEL 

As  man's  mustache  begins  to  grow  gray, 
And  little  furrows  invade  his  face, 

He  sees  in  the  mirror,  day  to  day, 

Those  senile  signs  that  are  taking  place. 

He  then  reviews  the  landscape  of  life, 
And  stops  to  reflect  upon  the  past, 

Where  he,  perchance,  met  and  won  a  wife 

When  sweet  maidens  their  allurements  cast. 

This  life  is  like  a  stream  flowing  on 

From  its  fountain  source  to  distant  sea; 

The  present  is  ours,  the  past  is  gone; 

The  future,  we  know  not  what  will  be. 

Water  passing  a  specific  mark, 

Never  returns  to  that  place  again, 

But  onward  flows  through  daylight  and  dark, 
In  its  constant  course  o'er  field  and  plain. 

Swiftly,  surely,  our  days  are  devour'd 
By  the  inscrutable  hand  of  time, 

And  our  pathway  may  be  showered 

With  the  light  of  good  or  curse  of  crime. 

League  by  league,  roving  ships  of  the  sea 

Complete  their  journey  from  shore  to  shore; 

Guided  by  a  helm,  their  course  is  free 

From  rocky  reefs  of  the  water's  floor. 


126  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Thus  the  helm  of  this  human  vessel 

Steers  our  voyage  toward  rough  or  calm, 

While  to  that  port  we  closely  nestle 

That  shelters  us  with  heavenly  balm. 

The  tide  of  life,  turned  in  a  day, 

Like  the  changing  of  a  river's  bed, 

Flows  onward  in  that  still,  rhythmless  way 
We  feel  when  youthful  pleasures  are  dead. 

Wlien  golden  days  of  summer  are  past, 

And  clouds  are  gathering  o'er  our  heads 

With  dismal  shadows  upon  us  cast, 

We  feel  that  darkness  before  us  spreads. 

There  may  be  a  light  beyond  this  spell 

From  which  we  emerge  into  that  realm 

Of  a  future,  bright;  if  all  is  well, 

When  a  higher  power  holds  our  helm. 

March  15,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  127 


ALPHA  AND  OMEGA 

Adown  the  days  of  the  pleasant  past, 

I  trace  the  travels  of  sweet  romance, 

That  charmed  my  soul  and  held  me  fast, 
To  a  lovely  lady  met  by  chance. 

With  passing  winter  and  coming  spring, 
The  alpha  of  our  friendship  was  laid, 

As  the  vernal  winds  fresh  flowers  bring, 

And  joyous  birds  their  appearance  made. 

The  sweet  summer  days  paved  our  ways, 
O'er  the  beautiful  landscape  of  green, 

Which  spread  before  us  in  sky-lit  haze, 

And  render'd  our  lives  a  constant  dream. 

Soon  autumn  came  with  its  frosty  spell, 
Whitening  the  fields  of  growing  wheat; 

Then  the  snows  of  winter  softly  fell 

And  clothed  them  in  a  fleecy  sheet. 

But  winter  winds  had  no  fear  for  me, 
Their  biting  blast,  easy  to  forego, 

If  her  fond  face  I  could  only  see, 

Regardless  of  ice  or  rain  or  snow. 

Time  thus  passing,  we  scarcely  believe 
There  is  an  end  to  present  pleasure, 

Nor  that  the  future  our  hearts  will  grieve 
In  their  replete  and  meted  measure. 


128  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  how  glorious  would  be  the  years, 

If  we  could  maintain  this  state  of  joy, 

And  banish  all  the  trouble  and  fears 

That  fill  our  lives  with  foreign  alloy! 

Beautiful  woman  of  splendid  type, 

That  young  and  aged  alike  admire, 

As  the  luscious  fruit  when  it  is  ripe, 

Fills  our  heart  with  an  ardent  desire. 

But  golden  grain  that  ripens  today, 
In  the  beauty  of  its  completeness, 

Stands  for  awhile,  then  withers  away 

As  time  destroys  its  first-born  sweetness. 

How  sweet  to  trace  the  journey  of  life 

Like  a  winding  stream  from  distant  source, 

As  man,  in  the  pursuit  of  a  wife, 

Surveys  its  route  of  romantic  course. 

When  friendship's  chain  has  ne'er  been  broken, 
And  links  are  welded  by  true  regard, 

Beware  of  those  words  sometimes  spoken 

That  leave  a  sting  and  blow  that  is  hard. 

There  comes  a  time  when  friendship  is  dead, 
And  its  wither'd  leaves  around  us  lie; 

From  me,  alas!  their  beauty  has  fled 

Like  fleeting  clouds  in  a  summer  sky. 

Then  ceas'd  to  bloom  that  beautiful  Rose, 

To  me  so  constant  these  passing  years; — 

For  what  or  why,  the  Lord  only  knows, 
Unless  it  be  to  bring  back  the  tears. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  129 

That  there  are  "as  good  fish  in  the  sea" 

As  have  been  caught  with  the  hook  or  seine, 

Contains  no  consolation  for  me, 

But  proves  our  designs  often  in  vain. 

All  things  have  their  embryo  and  end; 

Alpha,  perhaps,  leads  us  to  believe 
Its  viable  love  it  will  extend, 

But  Omega,  we  find,  will  deceive. 

Oh,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  now? 

As  Jesus  cried  out  near  the  ninth  hour. 
You  have  broken  my  heart  and  my  vow 

By  the  fatal  blow  of  your  power. 


February,  1921 


130  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


IF  WE  COULD  KNOW 

If  we  could  know  where  they  are  today, — 
Absent,  ardent  friends  of  former  years, 

Who  since  have  wandered  far  away 

And  left  us  in  the  shadow  of  tears. 

If  we  could  know  what  they  are  doing, 
As  distance  divides  us  day  and  night, 

Perhaps  we  might  in  thus  reviewing, 

Live  o'er  again  those  days  of  delight. 

Absence  sickens  and  distracts  the  heart, 
As  we  imagine  some  things  go  wrong, 

While  feeling  a  painful  sting  and  smart 
Where  once  we  felt  a  jubilant  song. 

If  joys  of  the  future  we  could  know, 

They  would  enhance  our  present  treasure. 

In  looking  toward  their  golden  glow, 

With  brighter  hopes  of  coming  pleasure. 

If  we  could  know  the  troubles  ahead, 

Our  present  would  be  filled  with  fear, 

And  would  thereby  the  dark  future  dread 
Before  death  itself  was  very  near. 

If  we  could  know  the  fragrant  flower 

Would  bloom  again  in  coming  of  spring, 

How  pleasant  would  be  each  passing  hour 

As  constant  joy  to  our  hearts  'twould  bring. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  131 

If  we  could  know  some  worshipped  one 

Was  to  us  true  through  life's  ragged  edge, 

We  would  consider  the  right  deed  done 
In  holding  fast  their  promised  pledge. 

If  we  could  know  where  abides  the  soul 
Of  those  who  have  from  us  departed, 

How  supremely  sweet  would  be  the  goal 

For  which  in  youth  we  humbly  started! 


April,  1921 


POIGNANCY  OF  PARTING 

In  parting  from  thee  at  this  late  hour 
The  sacred  ties  that  thou  dost  sever 

Deprives  me  of  the  sweetest  flower 

And  leaves  a  scar  that  lasts  forever. 

Friendship  of  fidelity  and  truth, 

As  has  existed  'tween  you  and  I 

From  the  earliest  years  of  our  youth, 
Can  only  be  severed  with  a  sigh. 

Without  thee,  like  a  mariner  lost 

In  the  infinite  realms  of  the  sea; 

I  feel  as  he  whose  pleasures  it  cost 

And  knows  not  where  his  refuge  will  be. 


132  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


NOWHERE 

Nowhere  do  I  see  the  golden  sunbeams 

Of  hope  and  happiness  before  me  now; 

But  annoying  trouble  slowly  convenes 

Its  shadows  about  my  furrowed  brow. 

Nowhere  do  I  see  those  fragrant  flowers 

That  thrilled  my  soul  with  rapt'rous  delight,- 

Where  once  they  brightened  the  morning  hours 
And  sweetened  the  air  of  summer  night. 

Nowhere  do  I  find  those  old-time  pleasures 

Of  youthful  enjoyments,  dear  to  my  heart; — 

They  now  are  lost  to  the  shrunken  measures 
We  feel  when  vigor  begins  to  depart. 

Nowhere  is  the  dog  that  ran  out  to  play 

When  I  returned  to  the  old  homestead; 

As  from  the  threshold  he  met  me  half-way; 
But  now,  alas!  I  learn  he,  too,  is  dead. 

Nowhere  do  I  see  the  knotty  oak  trees 
That  defied  the  vicissitudes  of  time, 

Nor  smell  the  perfume  of  the  lilac  breeze 

That  wafted  its  way  from  a  southern  clime. 

Nowhere  do  I  hear  my  Madaline  dear; — 

Like  the  lilac  blossoms,  she's  pass'd  away; 

Yet  as  echoes  of  music  ringing  clear, 

Her  image  is  with  me  both  night  and  day. 

Nowhere  do  I  find  those  sacred  treasures 

That  with  passing  years  I  fondly  cherish'd, 

And  now  recall  the  fleeting  pleasures 

After  their  being  has  long  since  perished. 

November,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  133 


THE  FIRST  WHITE  FROST 

With  October,  falls  the  first  white  frost 
Upon  the  fields  of  wheat  and  clover; 

Leaves  and  flowers  their  color  have  lost 
As  days  of  summer  now  are  over. 

Foliage  that  was  a  vivid  green 

Takes  on  the  hue  of  crimson  and  gold, 
While  landscapes  change  to  a  somber  scene 

That  is  akin  to  the  coming  cold. 

Waving  corn  blades,  withered  and  brown, 
Are  chaffing  under  the  chilly  air; 

While  nuts  in  the  trees  are  tumbling  down 

With  winds  of  autumn  that  send  them  there. 

Flowers  once  bright  their  lustre  have  lost 

To  the  change  that  has  over  them  come; — 

With  the  coming  of  the  first  white  frost, 

Their  pride  and  beauty  is  stricken  dumb. 

The  nightingale  now  no  longer  sings, 

The  sparrow  has  ceas'd  his  arrogance, 

The  robin  lies  low  beneath  his  wings, 

But  the  snowbirds  start  their  merry  dance. 

The  rabbit,  somewhat  demure  and  shy, 

Leaves  triangle  tracks  upon  the  ground, 

While  the  squirrel,  his  winter  supply 

Has  laid  up  where  it  cannot  be  found. 


134  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Birds  and  beasts  feel  this  autumnal  change 
And  adjust  their  plans  for  cold  weather, 

While  men  and  women  begin  to  arrange 
Their  early  winter's  work  together. 

And  thus  it  is,  with  the  first  white  frost, 
All  things  take  on  a  different  cast, — 

Flowers,  their  fragrance  and  tint  have  lost, 
With  winter  coming  and  summer  past. 

October,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  135 

THE  BLACK  MAN'S  BURDENS 

(Poem  of  Pathos) 

The  black  man  has  his  burdens  to  bear, 
His  toilsome  days,  his  troubles  and  care; 
Anxious  moments  hang  over  his  head 
In  planning  how  his  children  be  fed. 

When  first  he  comes  from  the  Sunny  South 
Where  used  to  living  from  hand  to  mouth, 
He  branches  out  on  a  broader  gauge 
As  he  enters  on  his  newfound  stage. 

His  burdens  now  begin  to  arise, 

As  he  feels  himself  of  undersize, 

And  by  the  time  his  plans  are  complete 

He  finds  it  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet. 

Then  comes  the  freezing  northwestern  storm 
Without  much  fuel  to  keep  him  warm, 
And  poverty  stares  him  in  the  face, 
So  common  to  the  colored  race. 

His  chances  now  look  dismal  indeed 

As  he  has  no  one  to  take  the  lead; 

He  then  thinks  of  the  old  southern  home 

And  longs  once  more  that  country  to  roam. 

Where  palm  trees  wave  and  the  myrtle  vines, 
And  the  south  wind  blows  and  warm  sun  shines; 
Where  cotton  grows  high  and  cane  grows  tall, 
He  loves  them  yet  and  longs  for  them  all. 


136  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  for  the  dear  days  of  his  childhood, 

When,  through  the  fields  and  through  the  wildwood, 

He  watched  his  parents  on  their  way, 

Coming  homeward  at  the  close  of  day. 

Crude  little  cabin  it  was  at  best, 

But  furnished  them  a  place  to  rest, 

As  night  came  on  and  darkened  the  skies, 

His  youthful  face  was  filled  with  sighs. 

With  the  days  and  nights  thus  oppressed, 

He  has  a  longing  to  go  northwest; 

Then  bids  adieu  to  the  old  homestead 

Where  times  were  tough  and  tears  had  been  shed. 

Sad  were  the  scenes  of  humble  parting 
When  this  poor  boy  prepar'd  for  starting, 
His  grief  was  keen  and  his  heart  was  sore, 
As  he  said  farewell  forever  more. 

The  cotton  and  cane  now  left  behind, 
He  dreams  of  fortune  he  is  to  find, — 
As  the  golden  light  of  morning  shows, 
A  vague  hope  within  him  quickly  grows. 

Palmetto  and  pine  he  sees  no  more, 
As  in  his  juvenile  days  of  yore; 
But  after  years,  a  struggle  indeed 
His  hungry  children  to  clothe  and  feed. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  137 

As  prospects  appear  somewhat  brighter, 
His  task  becomes  a  little  lighter, 
But  problems  of  life  still  very  grave, 
And  he  seldom  can  much  money  save. 

The  black  man's  burdens,  no  matter  where, 
Are  always  heavy  and  hard  to  bear, 
For  he  never  has  an  equal  chance 
The  white  man's  energy  to  advance. 


October,  1921 


138  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

ENGLISH  ENGINES 

(Dedicated  to  Mr.  W.  ].  Black,  Chicago,  III.) 

With  bolts  and  bars  mostly  concealed, 

The  English  engines  at  first  look  plain, 

But  strength  and  beauty  is  revealed 

When  they  proceed  to  handle  the  train. 

There's  no  noisy  bell  to  jar  the  ear, 

But  short  sounds  of  the  whistle  instead; 

Making  easier  the  words  to  hear 

When  they  are  given  to  go  ahead. 

Plain  and  simple  as  they  look  to  be, 

Without  the  rods  and  without  the  bell, 

There  is  something  there  we  cannot  see 
That  fulfills  its  purpose  extra  well. 

Painted  black  or  a  very  dark  green, 

With  a  narrow  strip  of  deep  red  dye 

Around  the  margin,  plain  to  be  seen, 
And  is  highly  pleasing  to  the  eye. 

These  engines  are  the  mechanic's  pride 

And  prove  themselves  equal  to  the  strain, 

As  over  the  rails  they  smoothly  glide 

Without  in  the  least  jarring  the  train. 

Graceful  and  grand,  they  traverse  the  land, 
Like  meteors  through  ambient  space, 

Applying  the  brakes  and  gritting  sand, 
As  over  the  road  they  swiftly  race. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  139 

Splendid  little  engines  that  they  are, 

Conceal'd  like  turtles  under  their  shell, 

They  create  no  noise  nor  cause  no  jar, 

But  perform  their  work  wonderfully  well. 

I  often  think  of  these  engines  now, 

As  something  pertaining  to  the  past, 

While  thoughts  of  their  being  crown  my  brow, 
With  peace  and  pleasure  that  could  not  last. 


October,  1921 


140  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

WILL  YOU  MISS  ME  WHEN  I'M  GONE? 

Oh,  friend,  will  you  miss  me  when  I'm  gone, — 
When  this  chair  is  vacant  and  forlorn, 

And  its  empty  space  you  gaze  upon, 

In  the  silent  hours  of  night  and  morn  ? 

Will  you  miss  me  in  this  room  of  pain 

Where  I  have  laid  in  misery's  grasp, — 

Where  you  have  come  again  and  again 
My  fevered  hands  to  kindly  clasp  ? 

Will  you  miss  me  in  the  aisle  and  hall 
Where  often  I  walked  to  and  fro, 

When  so  frail,  I  feared  I  would  fall, 

And  scarcely  knew  the  right  way  to  go  ? 

Will  you  miss  me  in  the  dining  room 

Where  the  beautiful  yellow  bird  sang, — 

Where  myrtle  vines  relieved  the  gloom 
And  juvenile  joys  with  music  rang? 

Will  you  miss  me  from  that  bed  of  pain, 
When  I  am  feeble  and  far  away, 

As  you  look  o'er  the  room  where  I've  lain, 
In  memory  of  that  painful  day  ? 

Will  you  miss  me  in  anguish  and  pain 

And  wish  for  the  help  you  render'd  me 

When  under  the  strain  of  worried  brain, 
You  will  wait  in  vain  for  me  to  see  r 

Oh,  friend,  it  is  then  you  will  miss  me, 
When  reviewing  events  of  the  past, 

And  wonder  why  those  things  have  to  be 
To  over  us  such  dark  shadows  cast. 

Albuquerque,  New  Mexico,  December  6  ,1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  141 


WHEN  THE  FLOWERS  BLOOM  NEXT  YEAR 

When  the  garden  flowers  bloom  next  year, 
Where,  oh,  where  will  we  be,  you  and  I  ? 

Perhaps  we'll  be  far  away  from  here, 
Or  under  the  sod  we  may  then  lie. 

When  the  fragrant  flowers  bloom  next  year, 
Other  men  and  women  there  may  be, 

To  take  the  place  of  many,  I  fear, 

Whose  lot  it  will  not  be  theirs  to  see. 

When  the  golden  flowers  bloom  next  year, 

And  the  fields  are  fresh  with  grass  and  grain, 

There  is  a  sweetness  that  will  appear, 
We  long  forever  to  see  again. 

When  the  dainty  flowers  bloom  next  year, 

And  the  summer  rains  renew  their  stems, 

It  will  to  the  gardens  give  new  cheer, 

For  those  who  behold  these  floral  gems. 

When  the  fading  flowers  bloom  next  year, 
In  their  declining  stage  of  splendor, 

When  the  autumn  leaves  are  brown  and  sere — 
Their  beauty  they  will  then  surrender. 

When  the  dying  flowers  bloom  no  more, 

And  the  mournful  winds  of  winter  blow, 

We,  like  others  who  have  gone  before, 

Will,  like  them,  slumber  beneath  the  snow. 

Novembir.  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


THE  THREE  THOUGHT-WORDS 

The  three  thought-words  that  before  me  seem 
Like  stars  in  the  diadem  of  night, 

Are  fraught  with  feeling  unto  a  dream 

That  thrills  my  soul  with  ardent  delight. 

Beneath  the  depth  of  those  three  thought-words, 
There  lies  that  sweetness  I  cannot  tell, 

Just  as  the  flowers  enchant  the  birds 

And  hold  them  there  in  a  magic  spell. 

'Tis  not  Fujiyama's  snowy  peak, 

Nor  that  of  beautiful  Mt.  Ranier, 

That  I  am  now  inclined  to  speak, 

But  something  to  me,  by  far,  more  dear. 

Mountains  cast  their  shadows  in  the  skies, 
Rivers  run  on  to  the  distant  seas; 

Flowers  bloom  in  realms  of  paradise, 

While  women  bask  on  the  beds  of  ease. 

Men  can  climb  the  Andes'  lofty  range 
And  command  armies  as  Bonaparte, 

But  cannot  explore  mysteries,  strange, 

Nor  fathom  the  depths  of  woman's  heart. 

From  southern  lands  to  the  far  northwest, 
Let  my  spirit  wander  where  it  will; 

As  that  hazy  hue  instils  my  breast, 

So  the  three  thought-words  my  bosom  fill. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  143 

Oh,  could  we  fathom  the  depths  of  thought, 

That  is  rarely,  if  ever,  spoken, 
It  would  reveal  mental  battles  fought, 

Where  hearts  were  hurt  and  often  broken. 

There  remains  within  that  dormant  spark 

The  embers  of  a  latent  pleasure, 
If  we  can  look  through  veneering  dark 

And  see  the  matrix's  shining  treasure. 

Then  'tis  the  thought  deeper  than  the  word 
That  we  so  quickly  learn  to  revere, 

As  things  unseen,  we  have  often  heard 

In  our  fond  fancy,  becomes  more  dear. 

Oh!   could  we  possess  our  souls  to  bless 
Those  infinite  joys  on  golden  wings, 

The  philomel  to  the  trees  confess 

When  in  its  branches  he  sweetly  sings. 

But  the  three  thought-words  before  me  stand 
Like  former  friends  when  they  fondly  meet, 

Have  within  their  meaning,  something  grand, 
Which  literally  is — "Ain't  she  sweet  ?" 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


UNDER  THE  MISTLETOE 

If  with  me  you  will  consent  to  go, 
I'll  meet  you  under  the  mistletoe; 
Beneath  the  shade  of  cottonwood  trees, 
We'll  bask  in  the  balmy  autumn  breeze. 

On  the  banks  of  the  rippling  river, 
I'll  thrust  a  dart  to  make  you  quiver, 
And  place  upon  your  beautiful  brow 
A  garland  of  leaves  to  show  you  how. 

Sly  Cupid  comes  in  the  fall  of  year, 
To  make  his  business  very  clear, 
In  the  choice  of  an  ardent  desire, 
While  yet  his  dart  is  aflame  with  fire. 

Then  meet  me  under  the  mistletoe, 

Where  the  sunlight  falls  and  moon  lights  glow, 

Where  every  day  is  a  golden  day 

And  every  night  a  star-lit  spray. 

Oh,  meet  me  under  the  mistletoe, 

For  that  sacred  pledge  which  you  must  know, 

And  unto  you  whom  I  much  adore, 

I'll  promise  my  love  forever  more. 

California,  November,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  145 


FADING  OF  THE  AUTUMN  FLOWERS 

Oh,  must  the  little  fragile  flowers 

Surrender  their  beauty  and  their  pride 

To  the  relentless  autumn  powers 

After  sweetly  blooming  side  by  side  ? 

Through  the  summer  days  their  strength  was  shown 
Against  the  dry  and  torrid  weather; — 

But  those  summer  days  have  swiftly  flown, 
And  now  they  fade  away  forever. 

Hyacinths  and  beautiful  bluebells 

That  gave  the  gardens  such  wondrous  hues, 
Ere  the  coming  of  autumn's  cold  spells, 

And  ceasing  of  the  fresh  morning  dews. 

Mem'ries  of  them  we  fondly  cherish, 

In  the  exquisite  place  they  filled, 
And  lament  that  so  soon  they  perish, 

When  west  winds  their  petals  have  chilled. 

Leaves  fast  falling  upon  the  bare  ground, 
Drift  hither  and  thither  in  the  lanes, 

As  the  wild  winds  of  musical  sound 

Blow  through  their  branches  in  mournful  strains. 

A  bird  or  a  bee  may  stop  to  see, 

The  change  upon  these  fading  flowers, 

Then  turn  away  and  fly  to  a  tree, 

To  rest  beneath  its  golden  bowers. 


146  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

A  rabbit,  perchance,  will  pass  and  pause, 

To  note  the  change  that  has  taken  place, 

While  man  lingers  long  upon  the  cause 
That  affects  also  the  human  race. 

Timid  violets  were  first  to  go, 

Followed  by  the  sweet  daffodils, 

While  the  marigolds  prepare  for  snow, 

As  their  waving  stems  the  cold  wind  chills. 

Oh,  lovely  flowers,  how  fast  they  fade, 

When  once  their  festive  season  is  gone; 

They  then  look  forth  to  the  next  decade, 
As  fall  and  winter  pass  swiftly  on. 

Sorrowful  picture  they  now  unfold, 

And  laws  of  nature,  brought  into  it, 

As  the  laws  of  man  are  thereby  told, 
With  never  a  chance  to  eschew  it. 

It  thus  portrays  the  passing  of  one 

Whose  life,  like  flowers,  faded  away, 

Long  years  ago,  in  her  noonday  sun, 

When,  alas!    she  could  no  longer  stay. 

Then  fading  flowers  that  to  the  breeze 

Their  lowly  heads  are  bent  in  despair, 

So  man  his  destiny  clearly  sees, 

As  he  feels  he  too  must  enter  there. 

November,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  147 


THE  FIRST  SNOWFALL 

The  corn  is  wither'd  and  crisp  leaves  blow 
O'er  fields  once  green,  but  desolate  now, 

And  all  is  chang'd  with  the  falling  snow, 

As  through  bare  branches  the  wild  winds  plough. 

How  sudden  and  severe  is  the  change, 

From  green  and  gray  and  barren  and  brown, 

We  notice  when  the  forest  and  range 
Is  covered  with  this  sheet  of  down. 

The  rabbits  come  out  and  look  about, 
As  if  to  survey  the  change  in  things, 

And  squirrels  in  the  trees  bark  and  shout, 
While  the  winter  song  bird  lightly  sings. 

Sorrow  to  some  is  joy  to  others 

And  snowbirds  now  come  into  their  own, 
While  robins  and  wrens  sought  their  covers 

In  southern  lands  to  which  they  have  flown. 

Mountain  and  plain  all  cover'd  with  snow, 
Assume  a  scene  of  the  purest  white, 

While  crystal  rivers  beneath  them  flow, 

Where  the  sun  pours  out  her  golden  light. 

Like  old-time  winters,  the  snow  brings  forth 
The  graceful  sleighs  and  merry  sleigh  bells, 

As  boys  and  girls  in  the  frigid  north, 

Surmise  the  secrets  their  sound  foretells. 


148  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Then  away  they  go  o'er  hill  and  dale, 

With  flannels  and  furs  wrapped  round  them, 

Regardless  of  the  cold,  calm  or  gale 

And  the  irate  parent's  "Confound  them." 

The  moon  looking  on  in  her  brightness, 

Observes  the  speed  in  which  they  travel 

And  how  their  hearts  are  fraught  with  lightness, 
As  their  joyous  reel  they  fast  unravel. 

Farther  and  farther  they  onward  speed, 
Debating  the  while  which  way  to  go, 

Where  council  of  the  preacher  they  need 

Will  inform  them  what  they  want  to  know. 

At  last  they  reached  this  tranquil  spot, 

Where  beauty  of  night  before  them  spread 

Her  grandeur  for  completing  their  plot, 

When  the  preacher  his  few  words  had  said. 

The  irate  parents,  lonely  and  sad, 

Felt  the  effects  of  the  first  snowfall; 

But  John  and  Jane,  now  happy  and  glad, 
Thought  it  the  grandest  blessing  of  all. 

Then  homeward  bound  they  turned  their  sleigh, 
All  blithe  and  gay  with  its  merry  bells, 

But  wond'ring  what  the  old  folks  would  say, 

When  they  found  out  what  the  first  snow  spells. 

November,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


THE  AGED  MAN'S  SOLILOQUY 

1  feel  the  night  of  life  coming  on, 

As  one  by  one  old  friends  are  falling, 

And  on  my  mind  there  begins  to  dawn 
Sad  symptoms  of  that  final  calling. 

The  sunshine  of  life  is  fading  fast; — 

Its  music  has  no  charms  for  me  now, 

And  clouds  of  darkness,  o'er  me  cast 

Their  dismal  shadows  upon  my  brow. 

Like  flowers  of  spring  that  quickly  pass 
With  the  withering  wind's  rapid  rage, 

Man  lives  but  a  brief  spell,  then,  alas! 
Enters  that  dark  and  abysmal  stage. 

In  life's  varied  journey  o'er  and  o'er, 
I  feel  that  youth  is  the  era  best 

Of  all  this  sojourn  from  shore  to  shore 
In  which  we  are  most  freely  blessed. 

Children  playing  around  the  old  homestead, 
Rekindle  the  flame  of  youth  again, 

Where  often  juvenile  tears  were  shed. 
Then  soothed  as  sunshine  after  rain. 

Like  leaves  that  fall  and  drift  away, 

Man  of  his  pride  and  power  is  shorn, 

Leaving  him  the  shadow  of  yesterday 
Depleted,  dejected  and  forlorn! 


150  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Like  faded  flowers,  with  vigor  gone, 
He  feels  the  sting  incident  to  age, 

As  younger  people  are  coming  on 

To  take  his  place  on  life's  active  stage. 

Oh!    then  where  is  the  hope  of  the  heart 
Against  the  gloom  that  around  it  falls, 

When  'tis  but  a  day  'til  we  depart 
Unto  the  mystery  of  His  calls  ? 

luly.  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  151 


WHERE  MIND  MEETS  MIND 

In  the  quietude  of  Georgia  Street 
It  was  our  longing  to  often  meet, 
And  spend  the  moments  in  tranquil  talk 
Instead  of  taking  a  toilsome  walk. 

If  we  were  youthful  and  gay  again, 
These  quiet  moments  would  be  in  vain; 
For  then  the  heart  is  fond  of  pleasure 
And  knows  not  when  it  has  its  measure. 

But  when  on  Alice  I  sometimes  call, 
As  the  evening  shades  around  me  fall, 
I  think  our  lives,  like  the  day,  is  gone 
And  night  upon  us  begins  to  dawn. 

There  comes  a  time  within  our  being, 
When  from  worry  we  feel  like  fleeing, 
And  grasp  the  chance  to  converse  awhile 
With  those  who  lend  a  consoling  smile. 

It  thus  transpires  when  friendship  is  keen, 
The  happiest  hours  are  often  seen 
While  we're  enrapt'd  in  this  pleasant  way, 
As  nightfall  follows  the  close  of  day. 

Then  across  the  street  where  palm  trees  grow, 
Young  people  are  passing  to  and  fro; 
Recalling  to  us  that  happy  stage 
That  precedes  the  coming  of  old  age. 


152  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

How  true  it  is  that  our  desires  change 
As  we  enter  on  the  downward  range, 
And  the  youthful  charms  that  lit  my  brow 
Are,  alas!  to  me  as  nothing  now. 

Faithful  friendship  in  its  gracious  way, 
Prolongs  our  blessings  from  day  to  day, 
And  blessed  are  the  garlands  of  love 
When  to  us  they  come  from  Him  above. 

So  onward  we  strive  from  year  to  year, 
Omitting  things  that  in  youth  were  dear, 
Until  at  last,  from  the  closing  door, 
I'll  disappear  to  return  no  more. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  153 


TREE  OF  THE  TROSSACHS 

There  is  a  birch  tree  in  Trossachs  Glen 
Whose  beauty  of  bark  and  foliage 

Fascinates  alike,  women  and  men, 

As  they  behold  its  beautiful  stage. 

Beneath  the  pleasant,  refreshing  shade, 

There  flows  a  sweet  little  mountain  stream, 

Caressing  the  shores  of  glen  and  glade 
With  the  magic  of  a  summer  dream. 

Its  leaves  are  soft  and  smooth  and  mellow, 

As  through  them  the  sunlight  finds  its  way, 

With  blending  of  the  brown  and  yellow, 
In  the  haze  of  a  beautiful  day. 

Along  the  banks  of  this  crystal  stream, 
Green  bushes  and  vines  are  entwined 

Into  the  realms  of  another  dream, 

With  all  the  beauty  nature  can  find. 

There  is  not  a  more  enchanting  sight, 
In  the  Trossach's  wonderful  array, 

Of  that  which  is  viable  and  bright, 

In  the  charm  of  a  sweet  summer  day. 

Through  hazy  heights  to  the  mountain's  peak 
There  stretches  one  grand,  seductive  view, 

Where  birds  and  bees  in  their  pleasure  seek 
The  sweetness  of  the  refreshing  dew. 


154  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  the  charms  of  these  Scottish  bluebells, 
And  the  pink  heather  that  underlies 

The  soft  shade  of  the  exquisite  dells 

That  reflect  their  colors  in  the  skies. 

Tree  of  the  Trossachs,  supremely  sweet, 

With  fragrant  flowers  beneath  thy  shade, 

Where  heaven  and  earth  serenely  meet, 

And  stamp  their  presence  on  hill  and  glade. 

Oh,  tree  of  the  Trossachs,  I  behold, 
In  this  beautiful,  beautiful  glen, 

Thy  bark  of  silver  and  leaves  of  gold, 

That  charm  the  soul  of  women  and  men. 

Loch  Lomond,  Scotland,  July,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  155 


THE  COMPLETENESS  OF  CREATION 

The  exquisite  flowers  clothe  the  fields, 
The  richest  roses  perfume  the  air, 

The  nightly  dewdrops  their  sweetness  yields 
To  the  morning  sunbeam's  golden  glare. 

The  mountains  have  their  majestic  heights, 
The  scalloped  hills  their  graceful  mould, 

The  virgin  forests,  their  lurid  nights, 

And  the  rolling  plains  their  tinge  of  gold. 

The  sea-gulls  rest  on  the  ocean's  crest, 
The  squirrels  in  the  tallest  of  trees, 

The  robin  in  its  fortified  nest, 

And  the  inland  thrush  far  from  the  seas. 

But  the  desert,  beneath  scorching  skies, 

Precludes  the  charms  of  animal  traits, — 

Neither  bird  nor  bee  above  it  flies, 

As  approaching  heat  of  day  it  waits. 

Over  the  summit  of  yonder  peak, 

The  stars  display  their  wondrous  array, 

As  they  light  the  hills,  barren  and  bleak, 
After  the  close  of  a  summer  day. 

In  twilight  silence,  the  landscape  now 
Stretches  away  to  the  star-lit  skies, 

Where,  in  enchantment,  we  know  not  how, 
Their  tranquil  being  supremely  vies. 


156  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Profoundly  quiet,  the  evening  hours 

Pervade  the  desert,  now  gray  and  dull 

From  lack  of  rain  and  lack  of  flowers, 
Yet  withal,  sublime  and  beautiful. 

Even  grander  than  the  grandest  day, 

Night  is  to  me,  as  I  see  it  here, 
Where  myriads  of  stars  o'er  me  play; 

Strongest  proof  of  God's  eternal  sphere. 

There  is  nothing  to  pollute  the  peace 

That  here  exists  between  earth  and  skies, — 

Like  the  ancient  Marathon  of  Greece, 
It  retains  its  splendid  memories. 

Thus  we  see  in  nature's  perfect  plans, 

From  distant  desert  to  the  mountains, 

There  is  an  invisible  eye  that  scans 

The  earth  and  air  and  flowing  fountains. 

All  nature  has  her  appointments  plann'd 

In  the  working  of  the  universe, 
And  will,  in. due  time,  reveal  her  hand 

For  what  is  wiser  or  what  is  worse. 

Then  man  alone  is  left  to  ponder 

Upon  the  marvelous  works  of  God, 

As  he  beholds  with  awe  and  wonder 

Mystic  realms  through  which  he  seeks  to  trod. 

November,  1920 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  157 


NIGHT  AT  THE  NEEDLES 

(The  Needles  proper  are  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Colorado  Riser  in  Arizona,  twenty- 
five  miles  southeast  of  the  town  of  Needles,  California,  and  from  the  beautiful  cantilever 
bridge  afford  one  of  the  most  impressive  and  fascinating  nocturnal  vistas  in  all  this 
desiccated  country.) 

Night  has  enchantments  across  the  seas, 
From  Scotland's  ever  beautiful  lands, 

And  the  pretty  Spanish  Pyrenees 

To  Arabia's  distant  drifting  sands. 

But  night  at  The  Needles  is  supreme 

In  a  specific  class  of  its  own, 
Where  primitive  earth  lies  in  a  dream, 

And  nothing  but  stillness  there  is  known. 

The  clear  blue  skies  and  silvery  moon 

Light  up  this  enchanting  desert  view, 

In  all  the  glory  of  midnight  June, 
As  falls  the  light  in  a  hazy  hue. 

India  boasts  of  her  great  Khyber  Pass, 
Her  River  Jumna  and  Taj  Mahah; 

Her  lofty  mountains  and  waving  grass 

And  Tiger  Hill,  that  excites  with  awe. 

Egypt  has  her  noted  River  Nile, 

Lybian  desert  and  moonlit  skies; 
Her  beautiful  sunsets  all  the  while 

And  afterglow  that  over  them  rise. 

But  The  Needles,  stern,  straight,  stolid  Needles, 

In  their  silent,  majestic  rearing, 
Have  not  the  song  of  summer  beetles 

To  make  a  sound  within  their  hearing. 


158  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Their  rugged  points  penetrate  the  skies 
In  the  ultra-quietude  of  night, 

While  the  majesty  of  heaven  lies 

In  disbursing  her  most  marv'lous  light. 

Sharp  crags  that  point,  like  wild  boars'  bristles 
To  the  beautiful,  brilliant  stars; 

While  the  stream  runs  through  desert  thistles, 
T'ward  the  ocean's  ever  open  bars. 

Serenely  stand  these  eternal  peaks 

In  an  isolated  world  of  their  own; 

Where  the  clear  canopy  never  leaks, 

And  the  nightly  stars  have  always  shown. 

Oh!  grandeur  of  The  Needles  at  night, 

Where  heaven  and  earth  try  to  excel, 

When  the  light  of  moon  and  stars  unite 
In  their  infinite,  glorious  spell. 

Then  let  us  console  our  spirit  here, 

Where  not  even  the  song  of  beetles 

Breaks  the  silence  of  the  atmosphere, 

In  this  charming  "Night  at  The  Needles." 

November.  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


DIAMONDS  OF  THE  DESERT 

Diamonds  of  the  desert  daze  the  eyes 
Under  Arizona's  bright  blue  skies; 
When  the  morning  sunbeams  on  them  rest, 
Their  brilliance  is  seen  at  their  best. 

Grass  and  bushes  with  brightness  beaming, 
While  in  their  beauty  they  are  teeming, 
With  multiplied  thousands  of  these  gems, 
That  cluster  around  their  leaves  and  stems. 

In  fullness  of  the  morning  sunlight, 
Their  iridescence  portrays  a  sight, 
Richer  by  far  than  Queen  Mary's  crown, 
While  in  the  zenith  of  her  renown. 

Myriads  of  these  bright  little  gems 
Cover  the  desert  with  diadems 
Of  the  most  beautiful,  real  designs 
That  the  connoisseur  in  nature  finds. 

These  sparkling  "diamonds  of  the  desert" 
Outshine  the  jewels  of  Mrs.  Mesert, 
That  in  our  dreams  are  so  beguiling, 
And  keep  us  in  a  mood  for  smiling. 

But  be  prepar'd  for  deceptions'  ruse 
That  leads  you  on  an  alluring  cruise 
Through  silv'ry  waters  and  golden  skies, 
Before  the  phantom  takes  wings  and  flies. 


160  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

These  wonderful  gems  in  their  glory 

To  which  I  must  ascribe  this  story, 

And  admit  to  you  at  any  cost 

They're  no  more  nor  less  than  crystal  frost. 

December,  1921 


TWO  EXTREMES 

There's  a  little  girl  whose  face  is  fair, 

Whose  form  is  lithe  and  very  slender; 

Her  eyes  ultra-bright  and  black  her  hair 

While  yet  her  hands  are  soft  and  tender. 

She's  very  sweet  and  often  present 

And  I  like  to  meet  her  when  I  can, 

For  she's  so  cheerful  and  so  pleasant, 
And  her  name  is  Atlee  Haldeman. 

There  is  a  man  in  this  same  hotel 

Whose  form  is  bent  and  step  very  slow; 

His  eyes  are  dim  and  his  feet  foretell 
That  age  upon  him  begins  to  show. 

He's  good  as  gold,  though  a  little  old, 
And  I  like  to  meet  him  ev'ry  day; 

For  as  the  story  has  oft  been  told, 

He's  eighty-four,  and  not  long  to  stay. 

Thus  here  I  behold  the  two  extremes 

Of  sweet  little  girl  and  grand  old  man 

That  often  appear  to  us  in  dreams, 
As  only  such  realities  can. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  161 


IS  THERE  ANYTHING  BEYOND  THE  BRAIN? 

Is  there  anything  beyond  the  brain, 

Within  this  human  machine  of  ours, 

That  from  this  time  to  the  days  of  Cain, 
Has  enrapt  our  profoundest  powers  ? 

As  the  light  radiates  from  the  sun, 

And  energy  is  convey'd  through  wire, 

So  is  life  from  the  time  it  begun, 

Measured  by  the  things  we  acquire. 

As  the  boiler  furnishes  the  steam, 

Through  immaculate  system  of  flues, 

The  brain  is  the  source  through  which  we  gleam, 
All  energy  that  our  bodies  use. 

Each  sensitive  nerve  of  our  being, 

Radiates  from  the  base  of  the  brain; — 

The  optic,  through  the  eye,  in  seeing, 

Performs  its  part  like  clouds  during  rain. 

This  intricate  system  has  a  base 

From  which  all  knowledge  is  supplied, 

And  'tis  that  base  in  the  human  race 

That  gave  to  all  who've  lived  and  died. 

Nerves  and  arteries  are  sparks  of  life 

Which  are  govern'd  by  sense  of  the  brain, 

As  in  orchestra,  sound  of  the  fife 

Supplies  a  deep,  harmonious  strain. 


162  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

The  seat  and  sense  of  joy  and  sorrow, 

Our  ev'ry  nerve  reports  to  the  brain; 

From  tips  of  toes  and  spinal  marrow, 

They  form  one  endless,  sensitive  chain. 

Mind  and  muscle  have  their  center  there, 
And  if  we  presume  there  is  a  soul, 

We're  inclin'd  to  think  it  will  be  fair 

To  place  in  within  the  brain's  control. 

Then  as  clouds  are  essential  to  rain, 

And  do  their  part  in  its  descending, 

So  are  the  functions  of  the  brain 

Supreme  in  all  the  themes  contending. 

Is  there  anything  beyond  the  brain, — 
Mental,  physical  or  otherwise, — 

We  can,  by  the  utmost  effort  gain 

Knowledge  of  what  the  future  implies  ? 

There's  nothing  brighter  than  the  sun's  light, 
That  we  behold  in  the  sublime  skies, 

Nor  nothing  darker  than  depths  of  night, 
As  its  intensity  multiplies. 

Thus  it  is  seen  the  truth  of  these  things, 
And  the  ultimate  proof  that  we  gain, 

By  evidence  their  existence  brings, 

That  there  w  nothing  beyond  the  brain. 

Sheep  follow  the  leaders  of  their  flocks,       f 
Regardless  of  the  way  they're  going, 

And  the  sea  birds  seek  refuge  on  rocks, 

When  wild  waves  around  them  are  flowing. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  163 

As  the  crowning  sheaf  upon  the  shock, 

I  repeat  the  question  once  again; 
Is  there  any  refuge  on  the  rock 

That  exists  beyond  the  human  brain? 

Oh!  my  God,  I  must  humbly  confess 

That  all  I  can  learn  from  earthly  source, 

Leads  me  but  into  the  wilderness 

From  which  there  is  but  little  recourse. 

Tell  me  then  if  there  is  anything 

Beyond  the  profound  depths  of  the  brain, 
That  to  my  mind  will  more  clearly  bring 

Bright  sunshine,  after  the  gloom  of  rain? 


January,  1922 


164  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


TO  ROSALIA 

Through  intricate  films  of  the  distance 

There  brightly  shines  a  beautiful  star; 

In  the  sweetness  of  her  irresistance 
I  often  wonder  how  far,  how  far. 

Oh!  could  I  fly  in  aerial  plane 

O'er  mountains  and  meadows  to  her  side, 
I  fancy  the  joy  that  I  should  gain, 

Within  my  soul  would  forever  abide. 

As  blow  the  winds  over  land  and  sea 

And  caress  the  shores  of  far-off  isles, 

So  does  her  image  appear  to  me 

In  the  sweetness  of  her  sunny  smiles. 

As  the  sun  lights  up  the  mountain's  crest 
Beyond  the  faraway  hazy  skies, 

So  does  her  mem'ry  within  my  breast 

Recall  the  light  of  her  sparkling  eyes. 

If  I  should  lose  this  beautiful  gem 

And  naught  but  mem'ry  of  her  remain, 

The  brilliance  of  the  diadem 

Would  never  return  to  me  again. 

Oh!  tell  me  then,  will  her  love  decay 

Throughout  the  passing  of  future  years, 

And  leave  me  in  a  state  of  dismay 

That  fills  the  heart  with  trouble  and  tears  ? 

January,  1922 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  165 


MEMORIES  OF  MALTRATA 

Dedicated  to  Mrs.  E.    Y.  Cuthbert,  who  is  familiar  with  the  transcendent  beauty  of 
this  charming  place.) 

Memories  of  Maltrata,  Mexico, 

Beset  my  mind  with  renew'd  vision, 

As  after  sunset,  the  golden  glow 

Remains  to  prolong  our  decision. 

Oh,  beautiful  Maltrata,  that  lies 

Like  a  pearl  in  its  translucent  shell, 

Beneath  the  ever  tropical  skies, 

And  the  charms  of  their  wonderful  spell. 

Oh,  beautiful  valley,  lying  low 

Under  grasses  of  velvety  green, — 

Nourished  by  the  soft,  melting  snow, 
From  Orizaba,  in  the  distance  seen. 

Tropical  trees  and  flowers  galore 

Beautify  this  land  of  paradise, 
While  birds  in  their  boughs,  forever  more, 

Bear  melodies  that  over  them  rise. 

Nestled  below  the  mountain's  crest, 

This  little  town  in  her  native  pride, 

Clings  close  as  the  noble  eagle's  nest, 
Unto  its  beautiful  sloping  side. 

Trains  in  their  serpentine  course,  descend 
This  picturesque  stretch  of  Alpine  land, 

Where  earth  and  heaven  serenely  blend, 
In  combination  supremely  grand. 


166  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Then  entering  at  the  eastern  door, 

Into  the  bewilderments  of  this  spot, 

Our  senses  are  charmed  more  and  more, 
As  we  behold  nature's  grandest  plot. 

The  landscape  that  expands  far  away, 
Over  vale  and  valley  to  the  east, 

Here  presents  a  beautiful  array 

Of  golden  colors  on  which  to  feast. 

Oh,  Maltrata,  fairest  in  the  world, 

'Neath  the  shade  of  Orizaba's  crest, 

Thy  vista  stands  like  skylights  hurled 
Over  the  apex  of  nature's  breast. 

A  filmy  cloud  hanging  in  the  sky, 

Casts  its  frail  shadow  upon  the  town, 

Where  fragrance  of  flowers  underlie 

Lisping  zephyrs,  as  the  sun  goes  down. 

If  there  is  a  more  beautiful  sight 

In  the  Creator's  grandest  display, 

Than  this  vast  valley  and  the  mountain's  height, 
Where,  oh,  where  in  this  world  does  it  lay  ? 

Then  may  thy  memories  linger  long, 

Upon  the  minds  of  those  who  have  seen 

Thy  beauty,  and  heard  thy  peaceful  song, 

Through  the  fleeting  years  that  intervene. 

December,  1921 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  167 

LET  ME  SLEEP  BY  THE  SOUND  OF  THE  SEA 

(Memories  of  the  east  coast  oj Guatemala.) 
(Dedicated  to  my  esteemed  friend.  Dr.  Hal  Foster,  Kansas  City,  U.S.A.) 

Wave  follows  wave  from  the  ocean's  crest 

And  exhaust  their  force  against  the  land, 

Then  recede  again  upon  the  breast 

Of  the  rolling  tide,  supremely  grand. 

From  the  frigid  to  the  torrid  zone, 

The  lapping  waters  caress  the  shores 

Of  every  island  that  is  known, 

From  China  to  the  southern  Azores. 

From  the  denuded  pines  of  Skagway 

To  old  India's  spreading  banyan  tree, 

Murmuring  waters  beside  them  play, 

As  they  cast  their  shade  upon  the  sea. 

Then  to  sleep  by  the  sound  of  the  sea, 

With  my  soul  sooth'd  by  the  water's  voice, 

Through  the  length  of  all  eternity, 
Is  my  fanciful  and  final  choice. 

Where  palm  trees  grow  and  the  myrtle  vines, 

In  those  far-away  tropical  isles, 
I  often  think,  as  my  mind  inclines, 

Of  the  balmy  breeze  and  ocean's  smiles. 

As  sunlight  cheers  wherever  it  shines, 

So  the  waters  soothe  our  troubled  hearts, 

And  golden  riches  are  in  the  mines, 

If  we  but  see  what  nature  imparts. 


168  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

It  remains  withal  a  foregone  fact 

That  whatever  conditions  may  be, 

If  the  desire  is  back  of  the  act, 

Sleep  is  sweet  by  the  sound  of  the  sea. 

After  the  storm,  there  follows  a  calm 
Which  we  behold  in  nature  divine, 

That  quiets  our  soul  with  gracious  balm 
When  the  sun  again  begins  to  shine. 

When  day  has  surrendered  to  night, 

Sparkling  stars  appear  without  number, 

And  the  moon  in  her  tropical  light, 

Serenely  shines  on  those  who  slumber. 

Subdued  the  waves,  then  back  they  roll, 
To  mingle  again  as  one  who's  lost, 

In  realms  of  power,  beyond  control, 

As  to  and  fro  they're  roughly  tossed. 

Sublime  the  waters  portray  their  part 

In  nature's  supreme  and  perfect  plans 

That  thrill  the  chords  of  the  human  heart, 
As  unto  us  her  glory  expands. 

Then  turbulent  tides  that  never  cease 
Impart  a  consoling  charm  to  me, — 

And  to  prolong  their  incumbent  peace, 
Let  me  sleep  by  the  sound  of  the  sea. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  169 


THE  POWER  OF  A  FLOWER 

Oh!  thou  delicate  little  flower, 

Blooming  on  hilltops  and  mountain  side; 
Dost  thou  know  the  infinite  power 

That  lies  within  thy  reticent  pride? 

When  storms  have  swept  the  forest  and  plain 
And  left  them  in  a  state  of  despair, 

Your  fragrance  and  beauty  still  remain 
Under  the  guidance  of  Divine  care. 

When  we  lie  low  in  the  throes  of  pain, 

And  long  for  the  help  of  God's  wise  will, 

You  cheer  our  mind  and  console  our  brain 
With  a  solace  that  our  bosoms  fill. 

Thy  presence  calms  the  anger  of  men, 

And  soothes  the  soul  of  the  distressed, 

While  wreathing  for  them  a  diadem, 

That  they  have  not  before  possessed. 

There  lies  within  thy  exquisite  mold, 
The  symbol  of  purity  and  love, 

With  influence  like  the  charms  of  gold, 
Yet  modest  as  the  most  docile  dove. 

You  bridge  the  span  of  many  a  plan, 

Along  the  pathway  of  friendship's  course, 

And  assist  the  woman  to  win  the  man, 
With  your  refined  and  floral  force. 


170  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Wealth  and  poverty  you  bless  the  same, 

By  your  presence,  wherever  growing, — 

Whether  in  wild  woods  or  gardens  tame, — 
As  you  perfume  the  breezes  blowing. 

Oh!  mighty  power  of  a  flower, 

Over  the  juvenile  and  old  age, 

As  strength  thou  dost  bestow  ev'ry  hour, 

Through  the  term  of  thy  beautiful  stage. 

Your  timid  aspects  sometimes  foretell 
The  secret  sentiments  of  our  hearts, 

And  hold  us  in  an  enchanted  spell, 

While  Cupid  sharpens  his  arrow  darts. 

Then  let  me  dwell  on  that  happy  spell 
In  faraway  London's  busy  Strand, 

Of  the  pleasure  that  to  her  befell, 

When  flowers  were  plac'd  at  her  command. 

January,  1922 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  171 


THE  GOLDEN  DAYS  OF  OLDEN  DAYS 

Oh!  the  golden  days  of  olden  days, 

Will  they  ne'er  return  to  me  again  ? 

Since  I've  grown  old  and  changed  my  ways 
Their  joys  and  pleasures  no  more  remain. 

Could  we  unite  the  present  and  past, 

And  make  one  grand  and  glorious  Now, 

How  sweet  would  be  that  model  to  cast, 
If  only  someone  would  show  us  how! 

We  barely  feel  the  fervor  and  glow 

Of  the  butterfly's  beautiful  wings, 

Until  he's  gone  in  the  fleeting  show, 

That  his  bright  presence  upon  us  brings. 

Then  when  we  review  the  long  spent  past, 
And  wish  again  for  pleasures  in  vain, 

Find  that  sunshine  does  not  always  last, 
But  often  follow'd  by  dismal  rain. 

We  see  no  more  the  butterfly's  gold — 
His  roseate  sides  and  gilded  crest; 

His  story  to  us  is  hereby  told 

In  plainest  language  that  fits  us  best. 

Thus  the  golden  days  of  olden  days, 

Come  not  to  us  in  succeeding  years; 

For  we  have  changed  our  former  ways, 

While  they  remain  the  same,  it  appears. 


February,  1922 


172  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

DAWN  TO  DARKNESS 

(Dedicated  to  my  only  brother,  Willard  E.  Decker) 

As  dawn  of  day  breaks  over  the  walls 

And  spreads  its  light  on  the  rolling  fields, 

The  balm  of  morning  our  soul  enthralls 

With  a  golden  gleam  that  o'er  us  steals. 

So  is  the  boy,  all  buoyant  and  bright, 
Entering  upon  his  life-long  course, 

Ready  to  play  and  ready  to  fight 
As  he  expands  in  juvenile  force. 

But  intrepid  youth,  if  you  could  know 
The  stormy  regions  that  lie  before, 

You  might,  perchance,  hesitate  to  go 

Across  the  chasms  you'll  have  to  explore. 

The  sun  advancing,  chases  the  moon 
Away  in  the  Hesperian  skies, 

As  with  the  approaching  hours  of  noon 
Effulgence  of  light  around  them  lies. 

Song  birds  and  bees  harbor  in  the  trees, 
And  display  their  delight  in  living, 

While  man  is  monarch  of  all  he  sees, 

And  feels  the  joy  of  nature's  giving. 

All  is  roseate  around  noonday, 

And  sunshine  supreme  in  its  control, 

As  before  it,  clouds  vanish  away, 

Leaving  scenes  that  emulate  the  soul. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  173 

The  universe  at  its  ultra-height, 

Like  man,  makes  a  supernal  display; 

Then  for  a  time,  grants  a  respite 

To  glories  that  change  and  fade  away. 

When  we  reach  the  zenith  of  this  life, 

Then  dwell  a  spell  on  its  changing  stage, 

We  feel  the  bitterness  of  the  knife 

That  keenly  cuts  us  in  our  old  age. 

As  the  ancient  Greek  general  laugh'd 

In  viewing  his  army,  ten  thousand  strong, 

But  was  observed  to  be  chafed 

When  to  his  mind,  something  seemed  wrong. 

Then  when  his  joy  had  turned  to  tears 
And  he  was  asked  why  his  weeping, 

He  replied, — "Within  a  hundred  years 

These  splendid  men  will  all  be  sleeping." 

The  great  Greek  general  with  his  men 

Have  long  since  passed  into  their  tombs; 

So  with  the  present,  as  was  it  then, 

The  brightest  lights  have  their  coming  dooms. 

Like  the  Greek  army,  men  rise  and  fall 

Between  the  dawn  of  day  and  its  close, 

And  surrender  to  the  final  call 

That  comes  to  them  in  defeating  blows. 

Sad  is  the  sight  that  we  look  upon 

When  the  noonday  of  life  is  passed — 

When  flowers  of  our  pathway  are  gone 
And  shadows  o'er  us  begin  to  cast. 


174  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

We  realize  the  shortness  of  time 
That  is  to  us  allotted  on  earth, 

Compared  with  the  eternal  chime 

Of  bells  before  and  after  our  birth. 

We  see  the  shades  of  night  drawing  nigh, 
As  the  evening  sun  is  sinking  low, 

And  feel  the  pain  of  a  pensive  sigh 

As  o'er  us  darkness  begins  to  grow. 

February,  1922 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 


FIELDS  AND  FOREST 

Oh,  beautiful  fields  and  forest  green, 

Laden  with  the  austral  wind's  perfume; 

How  sweet  the  sight  that  is  to  be  seen 

When  youthful  memories  you  resume. 

Dogwood  blossoms  in  pure  white  and  gold 
Enhance  the  forest  in  their  own  way, 

As  structures  of  beauty  they  unfold 

In  the  most  beautiful  month  of  May. 

Pink  sweet  Williams  and  bleeding  hearts 
With  the  violet  Johnny-jump-ups, 

Add  a  thrill  of  rapture  with  their  darts 

To  the  charm  of  blooming  buttercups. 

The  air  is  sweet  with  scent  of  flowers, 
The  trees  impart  their  fresh  foliage, 

The  soft  sunlight  peers  through  the  bowers 
And  lightens  up  the  enchanted  stage. 

Oh,  the  exquisite  charm  of  this  day 

In  fields  and  forest  and  skies  above — 

A  perfect  day  in  the  month  of  May 

To  fill  our  hearts  with  infinite  love! 

Beautiful  flowers  that  clothe  the  fields 
In  delicate  tints  of  red  and  blue, 

And  amber  skies,  as  the  sunset  yields 
Its  rapt'rous  colors  of  brightest  hue. 


176  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  the  grandeur  and  glory  of  it  all, 

As  these  flowers  with  each  other  vie; 

Unto  my  soul  they  profoundly  call 

Attention  to  what  within  them  lie. 

Thus  we  see  in  this  simple  story, 
King  Solomon,  in  all  his  array, 

Was  not  so  clothed  in  his  glory 

As  the  fragrant  flowers  here  display. 


THE  SETTING  SUN 

The  crimson  sun  is  now  sinking  low 
Beyond  the  high  Hesperian  skies, 

Lining  them  with  a  glorious  glow 

As  the  day  most  beautifully  dies. 

Great  tiers  of  those  gorgeous,  golden  shreds 
Of  suspended  clouds,  aflame  with  fire, 

Across  the  heavens  their  beauty  spreads, 

Then  vanish  in  space,  higher  and  higher. 

Oh!  that  this  grandeur  fade  not  away 

Into  the  solemnity  of  night, 
But  in  beauty  and  brilliance  stay, 

To  prolong  this  magnificent  sight. 

But  the  sun's  grand  day's  duty  is  done 
And  its  bright  colors  vanishing  fast, 

Proving  that  even  what  it  begun, 

Is  endow'd  with  charms  that  cannot  last. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  177 


MEDITATION 

When  the  sun  sinks  low  I  think  of  thee 
As  a  shining  pearl  beneath  the  sea, 
Washed  brighter  by  the  onward  roll 
Of  the  constant  waves  that  charm  my  soul. 

Oh  could  I  stay  this  longing  for  thee 
And  let  my  spirit  once  more  be  free, 
I'd  seek  the  joy  of  some  far  off  shore 
And  there  remain  forever  more. 

I'd  watch  the  waves  in  their  restless  plight 
For  tidings  of  thee  both  day  and  night 
And  when  the  sun  give  way  to  the  moon, 
I'd  flatter  myself  you're  coming  soon. 

Then  under  the  light  of  star-lit  skies 
We'd  taste  the  pleasure  of  paradise, 
As  moonbeams  played  upon  the  sea 
I  would  fondly  think  and  think  of  thee. 

A  foamy  surf  that  lashes  the  shore 
Enchants  the  sea  gulls  that  o'er  it  soar 
And  leaves  a  trace  of  nautical  tones 
As  receding  waves  utter  their  moans. 

Oh,  the  grandeur  of  the  deep  blue  sea, 
How  its  majesty  appeals  to  me 
And  fills  my  heart  with  ardent  desire 
To  join  its  strains  of  vibrant  choir! 


178  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

The  mermaid  there  is  free  from  care 

When  the  nights  are  calm  and  days  are  fair, 

Sublime  the  sight  of  nautical  night 

Where  the  stars  look  on  then  take  their  flight. 

Endless,  boundless,  tractless  depths  divine, 
Bright  and  glorious  the  sun  doth  shine 
Upon  the  glistening  ocean's  breast 
As  if  its  grandeur  it  was  to  test. 

But  where  is  she,  the  pearl  of  my  heart, 
Whose  absence  keenly  quickens  the  smart 
And  leaves  me  in  the  straits  of  despair 
That  weight  my  soul  with  sorrow  and  care  ? 

Her  image  has  been  taken  away, — 
It  was  too  sweet  for  this  mortal  clay, — 
And  now  in  vain,  I  search  land  and  sea 
For  pleasures  that  come  no  more  to  me. 


MYSTICAL  MUSINGS  179 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL 

In  writing  these  final  lines,  I  feel 

As  one,  who  after  a  long  sojourn, 

Reverts  to  the  scenes  that  o'er  him  steal, 
When  in  his  heart  past  incidents  burn. 

We  realize  that  our  time  is  brief, 

And  soon  fond  friends  will  know  us  no  more; 
For  death  lurks  like  an  insipid  thief 

Along  life's  highway,  from  shore  to  shore. 

Our  journey  in  the  wilderness  lies 

And  is  fraught  with  many  clouds  and  gales, 
While  to  the  future  our  spirit  cries 

For  something  better  beyond  its  vales. 

I  saw  a  poor  girl  from  Montreal, 

Whose  face  was  pale  and  her  form  was  frail; 
She  tried  to  combat  the  final  call 

That  mark'd  her  for  the  end  of  the  trail. 

Her  dismal  days  were  fading  away, 

Her  patient  mind  was  weary  and  worn, 

Yet  there  seemed  to  around  her  play 
The  radiance  of  a  brighter  morn. 

Thus  it  is;  we're  passing,  passing  fast, 

Toward  that  solemn  and  awful  change; 

Our  lot,  like  others,  we  know  is  cast 

And  we  will  soon  "cross  over  the  range." 


180  MYSTICAL  MUSINGS 

Oh,  my  friends,  what  an  alarming  thought 
This  transition, from  mortal  life  brings, 

As  in  the  midst  of  it,  we  are  caught 

And  borne  away  like  lambs  on  eagles'  wings. 

There's  no  appeal  from  this  sad  ordeal 
That  lies  at  the  end  of  our  life  line; 

Yet  in  a  way,  we  are  taught  to  feel 

There's  hope  and  help  in  the  great  Divine. 

To  those  whose  feet  are  weary  and  worn 

From  constant  burdens  of  worldly  weight, — 

To  those  whose  hearts  are  sad  and  forlorn, 
There's  relief  in  this  eternal  state. 

As  we  review  the  long  lane  of  life, 

With  its  pleasures  and  pain,  as  they  came; 
We  find  the  sting  of  struggle  and  strife 

To  one  and  all,  pretty  much  the  same. 

Oh!  for  the  world  if  we  could  live  on 

And  continue  in  one  joyous  spell; — 

But  like  others  who  have  come  and  gone, 
We  must  prepare  for  final  farewell. 

Then  as  I  close  these  last  lines,  dear  friends, 

From  what  we  might  term  life's  falling  veil, 

It  is  to  you  that  my  love  extends, 

As  I  approach  "The  End  of  the  Trail." 


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